


Who's Keeping Count of All Our Cheap Shots

by PaperAnn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 06, Angst and Feels, Bottom Dean Winchester/Top Sam Winchester, Canon Universe, Dean is In Over His Head, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Getting Back Together, Hopeful Ending, Jealousy, Lisa Braeden Not Being an Asshole, Love Triangles, M/M, Manipulative Sam Winchester, Minor Lisa Braeden/Dean Winchester, Possessive Behavior, Reunions, Scheming, Shameless Smut, Soulless Sam Winchester, Wincest Big Bang 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2018-10-17
Packaged: 2019-07-18 20:21:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16126022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaperAnn/pseuds/PaperAnn
Summary: It took six months for Sam to snap.Six months of strategically mapping hunting routes through Cicero, stealing glances of Dean’s new life with Lisa. While Sam gave the order and his brother seemed happy, it wasn't enough.Sam was fueled with the impulse tear it all down—to destroy it—he couldn't stay away.Unfortunately, six months was long enough for Dean to become family. An impromptu husband, a father. A fucking suburbanite.Yet not enough to fall out of love with Sam—nothing would be—andthatwas the bitch of it all. For Dean: it would always be Sam.Once the brothers finally collided, Sam came in swinging with ultimatums that created strife. A strange game of thinly-veiled choice appeared to hinge on Dean, except Sam was pulling everyone's strings. No one was safe from Sam‘s invisible, behind-the-scenes mayhem.Torn between his head and heart, Dean was swept up chasing after Sam, time and time again. Exactly where Sam wanted him. Sam didn’t plan to dismantle this domestic life he'd prompted: he needed to light off an explosion—one tactical move at a time. Until there was nothing left but ashes. Until Dean was finally back by Sam’s side, right where he belonged.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Notes for the Chapter:**

> Massive thanks to my freaking AMAZING artist [lotrspnfangirl](http://lotrspnfangirl.tumblr.com/), who not only created BEAUTIFUL art pieces for me, she also took the time to make extra-special add-ons. Because of her, the entire fic looks polished and fancy. I cannot thank her enough for her hard work, as well as looking over the fic for me _and_ being a fellow multi-shipper after my own heart! *swoon*
> 
> **Ann's Notes + Warnings:** Cheers to a second year participating in the [Wincest Big Bang](https://wincestbigbang.tumblr.com/)! From start to finish: the Mods were awesome, helpful and this challenge is great. I gotta holler at them for a wonderful experience <3
> 
> _Now_ , I do have to give some warnings/things to look out for...
> 
> While we begin at the start of Season Six—the fic will deviate from canon quickly, but Dean/Lisa and Soulless!Sam won't.
> 
> The Dean/Lisa is implied, it's NON-graphic and (as most of my readers know) I avoid using women as antagonists. Hell yes, I like my strong women! There won't be any Lisa-hate in this fic...unless you're Sam.
> 
> Onto Soulless!Sam's characterization! If you read the summary and the tags, that's what you're in for. I adore playing with the different angles that come with the 'soulless' trope, and this version is darker. Dean is definitely himself at the beginning of S6, while Sam is already accepting of his 'ends justifying the means' attitude.
> 
> Yes, of course: we've got all the normal elements of smut, fluff and some comedy of errors—but there's more angst in the mix.
> 
> Saving the best news for last (although it's a warning, too), my babe lotrspnfangirl created two sexy af pieces of art that are NSFW. I will be embedding them into the fic, and I'll give you a heads up at the beginning of the chapter so you'll be aware.
> 
> Okay, I think that's all for my ridiculously long note! Please, enjoy and let me know what you think! <3

 

  
It went without saying that the moment Sam was out of the Cage, he had to see his brother.

Luckily, there wasn’t a lick of detective work needed to locate him.  Sam knew Dean wouldn’t go deep underground.  He knew his brother wouldn’t be holed up in a half caved-in safehouse, caught up in the middle of ganking their ‘Monster of the Week.’

It was because Sam had asked him—hell, no, _told him_ where to go.    
  
He’d ordered Dean to chase after that ‘Apple Pie’ life, if Lisa was dumb enough to have him.    
  
Sam had an inkling it wasn’t a problem.  He’d seen firsthand the way that woman eyed his brother.  He’d listened to Dean brag and ramble on, recalling the stories of their fling.  Sometimes he did it on purpose—to harass him.  Because, of friggin course, it made Sam’s skin crawl.  
  
His assumption proved true the moment he got out of the hotwired car.  Sam could see it, clear as day, from where he parked across the block.  Watching the figures move inside the suburban home in Cicero, Indiana: the Braeden’s had eagerly taken Dean in.

Who wouldn’t?  

Dean was compassionate, loving.  He was damn amazing with kids.  He never gave himself enough credit.  They’d have been idiots not to open their arms to him, it didn’t matter Dean was in a time of need.

Yet…as Sam watched the happy, domestic scene, a small family gathered around the TV tossing popcorn at each other...his fists clenched.  Even though he’d been the one to set it up, even though _Sam_ had pressed and pushed his brother into this little slice of Heaven… he didn’t like it.  Not one bit.

In fact, he wanted to _ruin_ it.

He wanted to burst through the door, making a booming, dramatic production of his return, and haul Dean away from the only peace he’d ever known—

Sam physically recoiled when that ugly thought surfaced, because—why?

_Why_ would he do that?  Why was ripping this beautiful life apart all he could think of doing?

Why, after everything Dean had been through, wouldn’t Sam give him a chance to breathe?  To allow himself to be wrapped in the bliss of retirement.  Of not meeting his end bloody.  Of being surrounded by love and a family, which was something—though it pained him to admit—Sam could never truly give him.

Sam pursed his lips together and took a deep breath, bartering with himself.    
  
It wouldn’t be fair to storm in now—he knew that, logically.    
  
Still, he wanted Dean back.  More than anything in the goddamn world.  A world that was no longer under the threat of Michael and Lucifer, one where there was peace.  They wouldn’t have to be watching their backs, hiding behind sigils, and fearing the word, “Yes.”    
  
The Winchesters were now living where they could be together because they had _earned it_ , dammit, even if Dean had no idea.    
  
Plucking him away would be as easy as showing up.  Dean would follow Sam right out of the house without so much as a conversation.  
  
Sam had only been away for what?  Less than a month?  What kind of bond had Dean even forged with this family?  He didn’t owe them anything, and they didn’t owe anything to Dean in return…

Still, that damn niggling fact of Sam being the one who propelled Dean into this...it won out.  
  
Maybe it was pride, Sam incapable of going back on his word, breaking Dean’s trust.  God knows it was a difficult thing to earn back.  Who knew if Sam had even obtained it in the first place, after everything they’d gone through...

Sam had no clue he’d be sprung back up, topside, almost instantly.  He thought he’d spend the rest of eternity tortured in the cage with Lucifer and Michael.  That was the plan.  
  
Touching down on soil instead of flames wasn’t something that either brother could have predicted.  Fuck, it wasn’t supposed to happen, even though it was a miracle.

With a heaved breath, Sam shook the tension from his shoulders.  As he turned away and blocked out the sight—it felt like a punch in the gut—he attempted to ease his jaw while stalking back to the ‘borrowed’ Mustang.  Sam needed to remove himself from the situation.

After all, he had work to do.

Time passed.  In-between jobs, unbeknownst to Samuel, Sam continually found himself on the well-manicured lawn across the street from the Braeden household.  He’d switch cars with each and every pass, never arousing suspicion.  
  
Sam was drawn in like a moth to a flame.  It was compulsory (scratch that, addicting), he couldn’t stop if he wanted.

Sometimes, it was a drive-by during the day and he’d see Ben and Dean playing catch in the yard.  Other times around dusk, Dean would be cooking dinner while Lisa was helping her son with homework in the living room.

One night on the way back from clearing a vamp nest, Sam had the misfortune of witnessing the shadows of two bodies coming together in the early hours of the morning.    
  
The furious surge of impassioned jealousy told Sam he _couldn’t_ do this anymore.    
  
That moment, that rush of possession rearing its ugly head answered a question.  Or rather, the uncontrollable rage made things black and white.  Sam was struck by a dawning, and he knew it was time to face the truth he’d spent so much time silencing.  
  
The biggest realization was the obvious: Sam _continually_ came back.  He constantly plotted his courses, his hunting routes, to drive through town to see Dean.  No matter how far out of the way, he couldn’t make it without his brother.  When Sam took a deeper look...well—  
  
It was pointless to keep returning to Indiana if he didn’t come collecting, wasn’t it?

This hesitation to leave Dean after he was slapped with the image, these rumblings tremors under the surface of Sam’s skin at the mere thought—they were tormenting him for no reason at all.    
  
Why should Sam torture himself, continue to stew in this jealousy, when he had the power to make a change?

_Dean was his._

There was no if, ands or buts about it—this fact was irrefutable.  It was also mutual, and Sam would stake his life, betting that nothing had changed once they were face to face.    
The vexation came from the line in the sand _Sam_ had drawn in the beginning, but it was never too late for a fresh start, right?  He only wished he’d overcome his pride sooner, or he wouldn’t be facing this predicament.

Sure, at the time, Sam wished for his brother to be happy.  Sam sacrificed himself saving the world—but Lisa?  And this _illusion_ of a family?  They were a substitute.  And they were on borrowed time.    
  
Yeah, with anticipation came anxiety—the thought of finally seeing Dean again was both amazing and overwhelming, Sam _couldn't_ remain idle any longer.  Hell no.  
  
Seeing that borderline pornographic image in the windows, illuminated behind the curtains... Sam saw red.  Playing house was one thing, but knowing that Dean— _fuck_ —no.  This would not continue.  
  
Sam _would_ give Dean the real thing, what he wanted and needed.  Not a space filler because he thought Sam was gone.

That evening after his revelation, he stayed the night in town.  Sam had continued doing research to an obsessive level.  He’d cased out Dean’s job, he knew his schedule, and tomorrow was his day off.  The kid would be in school, Sam didn’t care about Lisa (even though he should have) and he had the perfect cover.

In fact, it was all apart of the plan.

The morning arrived, Sam stopped by a coffee shop—he didn’t get a wink of sleep last night, but he didn’t feel particularly tired.  He never did these days.  With the espresso in hand to stay alert, Sam mentally walked through every order of business, donning his Fed suit as the finishing touch.    
  
He was meticulous about his entrance and the caffeine added to the adrenaline over the upcoming reunion.

Sam hadn’t told anyone.  He hadn’t told the Campbell’s he was making this move.  If they called, demanding where he was, Sam knew how to deal with them: by using Dean as a contingency plan.  Saying ‘roping him back in’ was about having another hunter on the team.  It made sense, right?  
  
He’d just leave out the part where this was really about getting his lover back.  
  
Sam was practically vibrating, ready to hit the road.    
  
For the first time, he would _actually_ be able to swing into the goddamn driveway and park.  Instead of waiting and observing from across the street.  He’d been watching from afar for months.  
  
_Months_.    
  
Now that Sam knew the gravity, everything was different.  Distance was no longer an option.  Sam needed to quash any further bonds from forming on the spot.  He needed his brother.

Today, there was a timeline in place.  Sam _had_ to pull this off: down to the minute.  The plan had to work seamlessly from that initial move on the chessboard.  
  
His goal wasn’t just lofty—he’d consider it methodical, technical.  It included a series of conquests, all of them loaded, and he was ready to launch as their time came.    
  
Sam refused to fail, this _would_ work, and to be honest...he would enjoy this game more than he should...

Dean hummed as he flipped through TV channels.  He wasn’t searching for a show to stretch out on the couch and watch, he was searching for background noise as he cleaned the kitchen.    
  
They had a big, fat ‘Taco Tuesday’ with the neighbors last night.  Now, the aftermath of the goddamn fiesta lingered in the kitchen, needing a good clean up.    
  
Hell, there was red spattered in places Dean didn’t even think salsa could reach!  He’d already taken care of the backyard, but there was piles of friggin dishes and leftovers that could only be saved with a scrub-down.  Dean was dead set on finishing before Lisa woke up.

He knew there’d be pots, pans and plates clattering (there _always_ were), hence the white noise of the TV.  She was the kinda gal who liked the sound of a fan whirling, so the low hum of the television was better than Dean and his... _aggressive_ approach to scraping off the pintos and cheese...

With his hands on his hips, he pointed to the mass of party trays, bowls and dishware on the table, warning with a low growl, “I’m gonna make you my bitch.”

Right before he could get a sink full of warm, sudsy water, there was a loud knock at the door.

Fuck!

Dean took off running, knowing Lisa needed her sleep.  If a knock like _that_ rattled the door again?  There was no doubt she’d be up, looking for the visitor.    
  
Seriously, who the hell made their knuckles echo through the _entire_ damn _house_?!  

Shit, he really needed to control this situation!  Hopefully, it was just a delivery.  Some UPS guy announcing a package and they’d take off because Dean had admittedly (and selfishly) kept Lisa up all night.  Now wasn’t the time for the neighbors to drop by—she deserved to snooze as long as she could.  This previous week had been rough as hell, making Dean that much _more_ selfish.  
  
Ben had come down with the flu.  Both of them had taken turns staying up with him and monitoring his high fever.  God, the kid was miserable, puking up anything that reached his stomach, and then dry-heaving bile afterwards.  Lisa and Dean were constantly teetering on that edge of ‘should we go to a hospital?’ and were poised to rush over, right when his fever _finally_ broke.  
  
Dean was used to his four-hour sleeping shifts, so it felt normal.  Lisa?  Not so much.

Hench his full-out _sprint,_ to make sure that obnoxious greeting ended after round one!

Dean was so quick on the draw, he was flipping open locks and throwing open the door with a muttered, “Hey, what’s up,” before he looked at the visitor.

Then…time just _stopped_.

Everything around Dean, it...fizzled away.  
  
Because...his mind was playing a trick on him, taking in one unbelievable, this-can’t-be-happening-right-now sight that made him dizzy.  It wasn’t merely his eyes that doubled in doubt, his jaw was agape, his hands locked up and he—

Dean couldn’t move.

Not until the man in front of him grinned.  Wearing that same, familiar, unassuming and fucking _glowing_ smile, awkwardly asking, “Uh, so are you gonna invite me in?”

“S-Sammy?”  His words were rushed, filled with awe because, yeah—he was struggling for any sense of composure—it was as fleeting as the air in his lungs.  “Are you…?”  
  


“Real?  Out of the Cage?  Yeah, I am.”  Sam finally smiled wider and moved into action, pushing beyond the door frame and into the entryway.  
  
Sam didn’t stop there.  He continued on, further inside to where Dean was stuck in a complete stupor, shocked and amazed—

And he pinned Dean against the wall.

Sam pressed their bodies together, ducking down to steal a kiss.  It was so easy.  It felt like they were one just yesterday—Dean surged into him, his lips, naturally.    
  
Fuck, he wrapped an arm around Sam’s waist and grabbed a fistful of his suit jacket, desperate to find out if Sam was inside yet another one of his wet dreams, or not.    
  
...No way, not _this_ time.  
  
Sam was a solid force underneath Dean’s hands, rock solid angles and muscles.  Every detail was in place, every small nuance that Dean remembered about his brother made it undeniable.  Sam even flared out that same radiating warmth, he always ran hot, licking hungrily into Dean’s mouth.

“Holy shit,” Dean moaned, grasping him tighter, trying to comprehend the fact he _had Sam back._   “How?  When, _fuck_ _—_ ” but kissing the hell out of him took precedence.

Until he heard the sound of footsteps coming from upstairs, moving closer and closer to the stairs.

Dean cursed under his breath and (while it was the last thing he wanted) he had to physically shove Sam away.  If he didn’t, Dean worried he’d stayed glued right there, not bothering to come up for air, until one (or _both_ ) of them passed out.  
  
Seeing Sam’s frown, Dean quickly explained, “Lisa’s up.  Dude, we can’t—” and groaned loudly, because fuckin’ reality just set in.  And it felt like he’d been sucker-punched...

_Holy shit_ , if this wasn’t one massively screwed up situation—

Sam cleared his throat and retreated before the light footfalls reached the stairs, taking a second to soothe down his jacket and fix Dean’s hair.    
  
In these split-seconds, Dean couldn’t help but chuckle and had to stop himself from moaning into the familiar feeling of Sam’s hands in his hair.  God, he didn’t trust himself!  Dean’s only hope was putting _more_ distance between them.  This wasn’t casual temptation, it was—  
  
_Sweet Jesus_ , he just wanted to touch Sam.  Dean wanted hot and heavy just as much as those sweet, innocent moments.  To hold Sammy’s hand.  Make sure he didn’t vanish from under his fingers, under his gaze.  To keep watch over him, never let him go again.

“Dean?” Lisa greeted brightly as her hand skimmed down the railing.  “Who’s this?  I’m sorry, I’m not quite dressed for company!” she laughed, pulling her robe tighter and peering curiously at the new guest.

And, for the first time, Dean began to fumble—but before he could royally fuck up everything, Sam smoothly interjected.

“Sorry for catching you at a bad time, Miss Braeden.  I’m Agent Plant.  I’m a good friend of Dean’s.”  His eyes flashed over with a hint of heat, making sure Lisa couldn’t see.  It was a secret exchange that set the hook, and left Dean wanting more, before Sam continued with an inflection of weight, “I recently had a horrible accident.  Last Dean knew, I was in a coma, on life-support.  It wasn’t until I came to that I realized how bad the prognosis had been.  And found out everyone in my life had written me off as…well, dead.  It wasn’t a surprise I left the hospital completely alone, my friends and family lost faith. I suppose it’s easy these days—when your odds of surviving are minuscule.”

A hand flew over Lisa’s mouth as she gasped, stunned by the news and Sam’s expert delivery.  After a beat, she looked between the men.  “Oh my God!  That’s horrible!  I am so happy you’re all right! _Please_ , stay, catch up.  I won’t bother you two.”  
  
She walked over and kissed Dean on the cheek—his already flushed cheek—and said, “I’ll take a shower upstairs and then run out for some groceries.  I’m just—” she turned back to Sam, “ _Wow_.  I’m thrilled you recovered.  It just shows us the power of the human spirit, huh?  And what a wonderful surprise for you, Dean.”

“Thank you, I considered myself lucky to be able to deliver the news, that ‘surprise,’ myself.”  Sam smiled at her, that stupid-adorable sincerity in his voice.  “You don’t have to run off if you—”

“Hah, nonsense!”  Lisa waved a casual, dismissive gesture, already leaning on the first step on the stairs.  “Trust me.  When people come back into your life?  You need to appreciate all the time you can spend with them.”

Shit.  The smile she shot Dean?  It wasn’t unlike the glance _Sam_ had already sent him.

Dean’s heart was in his throat, because this…this was really, _really_ bad.  No—it was _actually_ too good, way too fucking good, but the current situation— _shit._

“Thanks, Lise.”  He watched her move in her subtle, cool elegance.  
  
All the while she continued sending him those ‘I’m so happy for you’ looks.  And they were _too_ damn _genuine_ : because Lisa loved him.  But what just happened—?  Between Dean and Sam.  Without so much as a thought or pause...?

Dean didn’t deserve her love.

Oh, but Sam was ready.  He looked as though he had a clear read on the situation and wanted to ease things along, ready with the words, “Do you wanna show me around?  Or do…you wanna...talk?”

“Both,” Dean’s voice cracked when he answered.

It was like seeing a ghost.  Seeing his little brother, his dirty secret, the love of his fucking life, right here in front of him was insane.

“How about I, uh, show you the living room?”  Whether it was Lisa’s appearance or something else entirely—Dean suddenly felt disjointed.  He was awkward, mechanical, and he lost grip on how to handle this, both literally and metaphorically.  The dumbass words of, “Can I get you something to drink?” came out, and Sam raised an eyebrow with a knowing smirk.

“Is this you in Host-Mode?” he teased, and followed Dean’s robotic motions, _finally_ leaving the front doorway.    
  
They veered into the living room, honing in on a well-worn couch.  Sam didn’t know, but this piece of furniture was one of Dean’s best friends on the nights visions of Hell kept him awake.  It was also a place blocked from view, where they could sit a _little_ closer without anyone watching (hell, he wanted to straddle Sam’s damn lap!) but he knew they couldn’t be seen like that…  
  
Which was part of the reason for the drink…

“Damn straight, it’s Host-Mode!  Now, shut up, brat.  I’ll get you something.”  He made the decision without Sam’s input, because he needed to rid of this kinetic, sexual, excited and _endless_ energy himself.  
  
He was worried he would take it out on Sam.

Maybe getting away for a second would clear his head, let this sink in, while he marched back over to the disarray of the kitchen, still begging for that clean-up.  He made a turn for the fridge and grabbed two beers—wishing they had whiskey in the house.    
  
Except, Dean wasn’t living that kind of life anymore.  Whiskey was for going out with the guys.  Guys in the neighborhood.  Whose only experience with danger may be a bat in the attic.

Dean returned, cracking them open and handed one to Sam, who made sure their hands brushed.  With a deep breath, Dean made the choice to sit in front of him on different chair.  For the time being.  This...seeing his little brother...it was so fresh.  
  
He’d stay here, at least until Lisa was officially out of the house.  At least to make sure they weren’t on top of one another: like he _really_ wanted.  Dean couldn’t control himself, okay?!  
  
After everything she did for him?  Dean couldn’t shove ‘Agent Plant’ in her face, not now.  Lisa seemed so happy for him, which stung, because she didn't know the whole story.  Or even a small part of it.  She’d be running in the other direction if she did.

That didn’t stop Dean from gazing off at Sam with those gooey, heart eyes and blurting out, “Jesus, I can’t believe it’s you.”

“You haven’t ran the regular tests,” Sam pointed out before he wrapped his lips around the bottle, the image shooting directly south in Dean’s overactive, hypertensive and not to mention _longing_ body.  “Do you _really_ know it’s me?”

“Fuck yes, I do.”  There was absolution in his voice.  “I can’t explain it.  There’s no way it’s not you in there.  Especially with the way you…” he left out the words ‘kissed me.’  Before Sam could get in another word, he had to know, “What happened?  How are you here?”

This was the first time Sam looked nervous.    
  
As Sam picked absently at the beer bottle’s label, he shrugged and confessed, “I dunno.  I tried praying.  To Cas.  See if he knew anything and he just ignored me.  One minute, I was falling into the pit.  The next I knew, I woke up in Stull Cemetery. Then...I went back to what I knew: I started hunting again.”

“Wait—” Dean’s tone was as harsh and razor-sharp as his realization.  “You started _hunting_?  As in, you didn’t come back to me right away?!  How long have you been topside, Sam?”

“I did!” he defended against the accusation.  “I…I did come to you right away.  But what I saw was you: _happy_.  I didn’t want to ruin it.  Until,” Sam heaved out a sigh and worried his bottom lip, but didn’t offer anything else forward.

“Hey.  You gotta give me more.”  Dean was forced to work, to pry this out of Sam, all while attempting to fight his mounting emotions.    
  
When _he_ had popped the top outta Hell?  He’d rushed back to Sam: without thoughts, questions, it was the only thing driving him.  Seeing Sammy was all that mattered.  
  
Even if Sam was telling the truth right now, even if his little brother had instantly gone to see him when he was sprung from the Cage: how the hell was it right if Dean was still ignorant?  With a gaping hole in his heart?  
  
He pressed further, “Until, what?  You, Sam, who always wanted out, chose _monsters_ instead’a me.  What broke the camel’s back?”

“I needed you,” Sam finally came clean, running a hand through his hair.  “I wanted you, missed you so goddamn bad.  I couldn’t stay away knowing that you were here, Dean.  I knew that the longer I went without you...the less you’d need me, too.  Maybe even forget me.”  And shit, was his voice small.  “I didn’t want to fuck this up for you, I thought maybe you could make a life with a family, you always wanted to retire, you nearly had it...but I just…”  Sam slowly met Dean’s gaze, and from within that passing expression, Dean saw it.

Sammy was apprehensive, he looked like he did when he was a kid and he was scared he’d done something wrong.  Like he’d messed up and disappointed Dean.  But how the hell would being alive, being back in Dean’s life ever, _ever_ cause Dean anything but pure friggin _joy_?    
  
Minus the whole, instant-make-out in the hallway; but they could _never_ keep their hands to themselves.  And Dean now had a relationship with—  
  
Wait.

…That, _right there_ , was probably what Sam was on edge about.

To be honest, Dean was too.

Because Sammy came first.  He’d always take care of his little brother.  Except, these stakes were so goddamn high, falling off one would kill them.    
  
Dean couldn’t let Lisa know _this_ was Sam, because then she’d immediately correlate him to hunting.  Something that was part of the terms and conditions when it came to them being together—Dean swore he’d call it quits.

Maybe that’s why Sam introduced himself as Agent Plant.  It was smart, Sam was constantly thinking on his toes, and now that he was here?  All Dean wanted to do was plaster them together, give them the reunion of a lifetime.    
  
Shit, when it came to reunions—especially with their godawful track record—they never went as planned.  Although, they knew exactly how they _wanted_ this one to go down...  
  
At the same time, he couldn’t do that to Lisa or Ben.

“Dean?”  Sam’s concern ripped him out of his internal musing, except...there was _still_ one thing that was bothering him.

“How long?  How long did you stay away?”

“Before I broke?  Finally snapped and came running, you mean?”  Sam was…deflecting, Dean realized, because he continued to skirt around the answer.  
  
Sam could preface it with other things, dress it up with pretty words, laugh around jokes, rather than giving him a damn number.  “I visited you here, over a dozen times,” he disclaimed (Dean would remember this continuing pattern), “But I’ve been here for a little over six months.”

“A half’a year?”  Dean was…shocked, actually.  “It took you a _half year_ to get over here and _say_ something to me—like how you were fucking alive?  Even though the first thing you did was head over here to see me?  You wouldn’t let _me_ see you?!”

He offered a nod and in a moment of weakness, drained the rest of the beer.    
  
Except, Sam managed to gather himself and soon launched with conviction, “You deserved this, Dean.  You deserved happiness!  I thought you could find it here, but I didn’t think that my feelings would get in the way.  I never thought that my,” he stumbled around the word, “ _love_ would be the thing that threw a wrench in the machine.  But it did.  And I’m here, and I-I don’t know what I expected to happen, but—”

“The 'what' is pretty clear, with that little Greetings-Back-From-Hell, and all,” Dean pointed out, leaning against the chair.  
  
He began watching Sam more closely, because six months was a damn long time to ’break’ suddenly.  Especially given the way they felt about each other.  Dean was stunned Sam had stayed away for so long.

With a laugh, the younger Winchester agreed, “I hadn’t planned that.  It happened when I saw you again,” then raised an eyebrow.  “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it.”

“I did,” Dean didn’t bother denying it.  “ _Too_ damn _much_.”

A lull of silence fell between them, one that stretched even further because Lisa was skipping down the stairs in the next handful of minutes.

She peered into the oddly hushed living room with caution, dressed and ready for the day.  “You guys all right?”

“Yeah, thanks, Lise,” overlapped Sam’s cordial, “Of course, still catching up.”

Although she watched them curiously—taking note something _was_ off—Lisa was observant and noticed the empty beer bottles on the table.  Without a prompt, she went ahead and grabbed the pair refills, replacing the old ones and making a beeline towards Dean.

“Must be some heavy discussion topics, huh.”  There was a musical quality to her voice, trying to lighten the mood.  “You boys have fun.  I’ll be back in a few hours.”

When she dipped down, (behind Lisa’s back—Sam flinched) and while Dean tensed up a small notch, he still naturally tilted his chin and met her halfway with a goodbye kiss.  “Thanks, babe.  Drive safe.”

She patted Dean on the cheek and reminded him, “Ben has baseball practice tonight, so if your friend wants to stay for dinner, just text me!”  Lisa turned to Sam with a sincere, joyful glow and implored, “We’d love the company and I can pick up all the groceries we need.”

Lisa departed with ease, not a care in the world, and both men heard the lock click behind her.

The second Dean turned back around, was the second he noticed Sam was…  
  
Wait—what _was_ that?  The expression that had overwhelmed Sam’s features in an intense burst it dissipated just as quickly.  But it was foreign, unlike his brother.

Of fuckin’ course, there would be jealousy.  Dean would feel the same way if the tables had been turned, but whatever flashed across Sam’s face was more than that.    
  
Maybe the Cage had carved out someone Dean hadn’t met yet—he knew through experience you didn’t get through Hell unscathed.  Maybe Dean needed to work to get close to him, to make him trust again.  Who knew what he’d been through with Michael _and_ Lucifer.  
  
No matter what, Sam was Sam.  They’d both been through hell and back, they’d do anything for each other.  
  
Just as fast, Sam’s expression was eerily neutral, and began slowly transforming into something different once more.

Different, in the way that keenly acknowledged they were finally completely and utterly alone.

Sam took his time.  He moved leisurely as he popped the cap off the fresh beer and ( _Godhelphim_ ) made a show of taking a swig, his tongue flickering over his lips.  His eyes were boring holes in Dean, intimate and intense, but—  
  
This was owed a conversation.

All things considered, Dean had numbered his priorities: Sam being back, how, for how long, and where they went from here.

The last thing on that list?  It was weighted.  Especially because of his current predicament and all the hearts it could break in the process.    
  
Sam (of all people) had to know that, too.  In all these visits, he couldn’t have been scoping out an empty house.  He was checking up on Dean, so he _had_ to see what was going on—how he’d integrated.  How Dean was one step away from being a goddamn father and husband—  
  
This was a mess.

“So, uh, wanna stay for dinner?” was Dean’s stammered inquiry, grabbing his drink and chugging until he calmed his hummingbird heartbeat.    
  
Naturally, it didn’t fucking work.  He ended up drinking until the damn thing was gone.

Which didn’t go unnoticed by Sam.  He smirked as he watched each bob of Dean’s throat, chugging the alcohol.

Sam had to admit, “I don’t think dinner would be…the best idea.”  He set his bottle down and scooted over, suggesting, “I think a better idea would be taking advantage of this couch—”

“Sam—” there was a warning to it.

Instantly, he frowned and corrected, “No!  Not like _that_!  I meant…I just wanted you closer, is all.  You’re…far away.  You’ve been outside my reach for so long.  Now that you’re here in front of me, we’re together, I want us to _be together._  Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“You were the one that started it,” Dean groused, as he gave in and he crossed the space, flopping down next to Sam.    
  
He sunk back into the couch, letting their knees knock and he couldn’t help it, Dean leaned that much closer.

Until their arms were pressed into a line, craving the other’s warmth.  Until they could soak up this fleeting time together, exist against one another, simply touching.  And, yeah, it was only natural (and sappy) that after all this time apart, Dean thinking he was gone forever, their hands came together, fingers intertwining.  
  
This was new, but it was good.  It was innocent and not crossing the lines straight to ’cheating,’ so Dean didn’t see the harm.

“Fuck,” Sam scoffed, his head leaning against Dean’s.  “I missed you.  Shoulda come back sooner.”  When he squeezed, he asked elusively, “What are you going to do?”

That question practically made Dean’s heart stop.

He was faced with a choice.  One he never, ever thought he’d have to make.

Stay with the family who took him in when he was at his weakest.  Stay true to the woman who put up with all his nightmares and PTSD, who was patient with him.  Helped him put back together all his broken pieces.  A woman who trusted not just _her own_ live but her _son’s,_ and carried all his baggage.  
  
Add to all that, Lisa was someone strong enough to know the truth: she could handle the threats and reality of things going bump in the night.  He’d never had anyone (besides Sam) to share that with, who was capable of taking that on.  
  
If Dean closed his eyes and feigned ignorance...he truly had a shot living the life he never dreamed he’d get the chance to.  Almost like a Djinn dreamscape, without the inevitable death part.  
  
Dean could return the effort and all the unconditional effort Lisa and Ben had put into him—healing him like a rehabilitated, feral animal—allowing him to become a centerpiece in their family.  Being just another normal guy.

Or throw all that away.

Get back into hunting.  Make a beeline for death, pain, violence, and not only for the two of them, but cursing everyone who got too close to them.  Save some lives, lose so many others.  Get the shit kicked out of him on a daily basis.

But…they save the world—they’ve done it more than once.  Who else has a job like that?  
  
He and Sam fought for this life like hell, constantly living side-by-side, with this damn unconventional, but undeniable, soulmate connection.    
  
Sam, who’d still love him no matter how bad shit got.  No matter what horrible things Dean did.  No matter what happened, they’d always come back to one another, they’d always fight for each other…   
  
Fuck, Dean’s soulmate—his best friend, his lover, his family, _and_ someone who Dean never thought he’d see again (let alone was sitting beside him)—was asking him the million-dollar question: _What now?_

Thinking about it openly, if Lisa even knew about Sam (about _them_ ) she’d probably kick him out on his ass.  They’d be over.  Their relationship done for good, right then and there.

Dean wouldn’t be left with a choice.

How could he chose between _having_ a family?  And holding on tightly to his one, _true_ family?

Sam didn’t appear to be waiting around for an answer much longer.

He pressed a chaste kiss to the top of Dean’s head.  His lips brushed down to Dean’s temple, then his cheek before they skated across Dean’s own.

A breath caught in Dean’s chest, lost in the feeling of Sam’s mouth, and he had to turn away.

Except, when he did that, Sam seemed to take it as a sign to nibbled against the expanse of throat, now exposed before him.  And, _dammit_ , if that didn’t pull a moan or two from Dean’s chest.

But he had to think!

Sam was acting boldly, but he did have the advantage.  Apparently, watching Dean from afar for a half-year and having the jump—you know, _being alive_ —would do that.    
  
The fact his brother was up on good ol’ Earth, just bopping around, made his stomach coil.  As much as Sam’s ministrations felt fan-fucking-tastic (and, _Jesus_ , did they—) Dean’s hyperactive brain wouldn’t let him follow wherever the goddamn wind took them.

Not when he’d made promises to people, didn’t matter if they were verbalized or assumed…

“Dean...” Sam’s voice was breathy as he cuffed a finger under his chin, drawing his attention back.  “Tell me what you want.”

God, Sam’s pupils were dilated, he was holding back a storm of lust.  The sight was amazing, it everything in him to hold back—  
  
Dean steeled his nerves, he spat out, “I wanted you to come back to me.  The second you were able.  Not you…waiting.  Letting all this time pass, ‘cause you thought I would’ve been happy here.  Justifying it with all this ‘retirement’ bullshit.  Sam, I wanted _you_ , dammit!”

“ _Wanted…_ ” Sam’s alarm was evident at the past-tense.  “Does that mean…?”

“Want,” Dean corrected, because he couldn’t stand seeing him deflate like a kicked puppy.  “’Course I still want you.  But now, everything is complicated.  It’s—”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Sam urged, which made Dean’s confusion spike again.  “Just tell them.  You’ve got more options than you think.  The truth is one of your choices.”  Sam made his turnaround like nothing happened: his grin and his energy was alive, seductive.  He tugged on Dean’s arm, hauling him closer than before, flickering his tongue along the shell of Dean’s ear.  
  
Sam directed him with a rumbling purr, “Tell them we were together: that you and Plant were.  And you can’t live a lie.  Or tell them your brother’s back, and you have to go with him to hunt, that it’s serious.   _None of it_ is bullshit, it’s all the _truth_ , it’s—”

“Sam—” Dean was nearly stunned to silence by Sam’s assertiveness, but the surprise kept him from clamming up altogether.  Any other day, he’d help Dean brainstorm about _choices,_ all of them, and leave the decision up to Dean.  Sam’s position—his overt bias—was very, very clear.  “Y-you…you’re _really_ suggesting I just ditch out—?”

A switch flipped again.

One that resulted in Sam physically and verbally retracting, putting space between them and hanging his head.  After he wiped a hand down his face, he shot to his feet and stomped back to the door.  
  
Dean was springing up and chasing him to—he needed to catch him!—shouting out, “Wait!  Where are you—”

“This was stupid.”  He berated himself in a harsh tone.  “I never should have showed up.”  Sam was running away so damn quick, Dean’s head spun.  “I was the one who made you do this! _Me_!  I dug my grave—and you’re right: I can’t ask you to give it all up now.  I complicated everything.  Fuck.”  
  
As he reached for the door handle, Dean beat him to it—Sam's glower was something fierce as he barked out, “What?”

“Sammy...” he tried to coax him with a gentle approach, this shift startling.  Sam’s reactions, his demeanor and current mindset worried Dean, he asked carefully, “Are you all right?  What happened in Hell?”

“Nothing.”  He tried to dodge and grab the handle, but Dean wasn’t letting him get away.  
  
Not yet.  Not after everything that happened.

“Hey, I’m been there, dude.  If _anyone_ can understand—”  When Sam’s stance widened to intimidate him (Dean knowing how friggin stubborn he could be) he tried something new.  “You just came back into my life.  You _can’t_ leave me now.  Please, give me time to figure this out, you—”

“Now you know I’m okay,” Sam decided to cut him off.  _Again_.    
  
This was getting downright infuriating!    
  
“Take the win.”  With a cold, biting tone, Sam said, “You _are_ content with the way things are, I get it.  Now you can live your life without any guilt, knowing there’s no cage to spring open, that I made it out.  And…know that I’m out there—that there are hunters _still_ taking out the monsters.  So you can sleep easy at night.”

“Okay, you asshole.”  Dean had to physically wedge himself between the narrow space of the door and Sam.  “If you think that’s all you mean to me?  That I can just chill, here, knowing you’re alive?  You don’t know shit!”

With a scoff and an eye roll, Sam crossed his arms, wondering dully, “Seriously?  Are you gonna hold me prisoner?

“You better promise not to disappear!  Give me _time_ , I’m gonna work this out— _dammit_ —Sam—!”  The incessant back-and-forth inside Dean’s heart finally reached a boiling point and he punched straight through the drywall.  

Instantly, he regretted it.    
  
Because Dean would need to fucking fix that before Lisa returned home…  
  
Another thing to add to the list of the _million things_ that needed goddamn fixing!

Except, that burst of internal rage expended some frenetic energy, he could turn back to Sam with a cooler head.  “You know it.  You fuckin’ know you’re worth more than that.  I gotta sort this out.  Just…let me.  Trust me?”

Sam waited, arms still folded, and Dean knew he had to give in and allow Sam to pass.  It was the hardest thing he’d done in a long fucking time.  His brother walking back into his life and then letting him leave on _these_  terms?    
  
When Dean wanted nothing more than to leave with him?

Once Sam was on the porch, he hesitated in his step.    
  
Of course, Dean was still in the doorway watching him and while Sam raised his voice, didn’t turn around.  “I won’t disappear.  But Dean…I’m hunting.  It’s something important, too, and I can’t stick around here for long.”  Sam’s posture sagged and his arms finally swung down to his sides, “I’ll be going out tonight.  Maybe I’ll see you, but I won’t hold my breath.”

Dean watched every second of his brother’s retreating back, gripping the door with enough force to break the glass.

Fuck, this wasn’t fair.

To any of them.

Dean needed to get his head on straight.  The time to make his choice was running out as fast as he found out there was a choice to be made!

The fact Sam was back?   _Jesus_ , his heart hadn’t felt this light since…before any Apocalypse.  Before any impending Demon Deals.  Maybe even before Dad—    
  
The world was at peace, there wasn’t a friggin threat looming, and Dean had the backdrop, the makings of a perfect life.  Something to thrive in.  
  
Maybe it was _too_ peaceful.  Which was why everything had crashed down around him.  
  
Dean was left with an impossible choice.    
  
Ironically, he was picking between two miracles—a happy ending for a _hunter_ or being with the one person who meant everything to him, getting him back from the dead.  He’d be happy living either life, but it would kill him to turn away and hurt the other.  The fact he was presented with these options was baffling.  
  
He had to act, soon, and he couldn’t take it lightly.  Dean’s goddamn time-frame made him sick to his stomach, it needed to be sorted faster than he wanted, but in his gut…Dean wanted Sam.

On the other side of the coin, did Dean want all the things that came with that life again?  Sam naturally returned to a life of hunting, and Dean always assumed that was _their_ thing.  That Sam would’ve done something different, had he been on his own.    
  
No matter how long, Dean knew it’d be like riding a bike.  He couldn’t say he didn’t occasionally flip through newspapers and thumb through sites, making sure darkness wasn't lurking close to home.  It was habit, those instincts never left.  
  
Wow.  Hunting again, it would be another slap in the face...could he do that to Lisa and Ben?

Dean closed his eyes and realized his knuckles were throbbing, which reminded him…he had a fist-sized hole to fix.    
  
Even though that was the least of his problems, it was something to do.  Plus, it was something he could do now, and do it _right_.    
  
All the rest of the shit?  Dean _wasn’t_ prepared for.  Not one bit.


	2. Chapter 2

 

  
Sam was confused about a cubic-shit-ton of things that happened on his reunion visit with Dean.  While, yes, the majority of things had gone according to plan, there had been a slew of outliers that hadn’t.    
  
The things he hadn’t intended to do, himself.  He couldn’t have prepared for his _own_ actions to be what steered them off course!

Yeah, while Sam _wanted_ Dean to make up his mind right away, Sam also recognized there were equal odds Dean would hesitate.  This was something he had previously accounted for.  Known there was a chance of.  
  
Sam had not expected his gut reaction to Dean’s hesitation.  Sam’s…blatant offense that his brother didn’t drop everything for him.  But, dammit, Sam had been pissed.

As played out the encounter in his head, Sam was _supposed_ to be understanding.  He was _supposed_ to care about Lisa and Ben and the bond Dean had forged with them.  He figured it would make him look better if he was sympathetic and understood Dean’s commitment to them.  
  
When it came time—Sam couldn’t sympathize.  He couldn’t bring himself to give a fuck, and that was distressing.

He knew damn well it had startled Dean, too, it was written all over his face!

Shit, Sam hadn’t stopped there, he’d gone as far as to provoke him with timed ultimatum.  That _wasn’t_ something did, putting that kind of pressure, on the ones you loved!

Except, Sam craved and hungered for this kind of…ownership.

He wanted to be able to call Dean his.    
  
Even seeing Lisa doting on him?  It sent a shrill, ugly zing of loathing through Sam, it carved as sharp as a blade, and he prayed he had masked it from Dean as quickly as it emerged.  Perhaps in retrospect, seeing Lisa’s absolute confidence in their relationship, paired with Dean’s lack of an answer, had been the thing that set Sam off.  
  
Maybe seeing the ‘happy couple’ up close had caused those spontaneous outliers in Sam’s previously well thought-out scheme.    
  
No matter how envious, Sam shouldn’t feel rage—right?  Petty jealousy would be fine, but not something this immensely overpowering.

Maybe…something came back with Sam, something from Hell.  Whatever it was, it wasn’t good for his brother...  
  
Maybe Sam didn’t give a shit.

Kissing Dean again, holding him, using his tongue to make Dean whimper and moan—he wanted more.  Sam wanted to push him down into the mattress and make Dean scream all night.  Although, the current trajectory of his plan didn’t look promising.

For better or for worse, Sam had announced he’d be going out tonight, right?

If his brother didn’t show and needed more time: Sam was willing to give it to him—no matter how long it took, he needed Dean.  
  
Plus, there was bound countless others out at the bar who were ready and looking for a quick lay.  That was another thing that was…new.  Something Sam hadn’t thought he was capable of since his return.

The first time he’d taken a one-night-stand to bed, the person had been the spitting image of Dean, well, if Dean was a woman.  Sam had imagined, had pictured a cursed version of his brother the entire time they were together, and promptly kicked her out in the morning.    
  
It had been spur of the moment, Sam had planned on paying for it when he was sober in the morning, but the guilt wasn’t there.

Sam told himself that if this was what it took to keep away from Dean, to make sure that his brother was happy?  This was what Sam would do.  Sex was a normal part of life.  
  
When they were together their sex life had been very, _very_ active—it was natural Sam felt the absence acutely.  In his mind, everything Sam did was to protect his brother.

The ironic part, was when he saw Dean with Lisa, he’d saw red.  The thought of Dean with anyone other than Sam?  That was unacceptable.

He liked the woman enough, the boy was irrelevant, but Sam had a goal—hopefully, the stage was set to lure Dean to him.  Sam _knew_ he’d made an impact.  Fingers crossed, those idiotic moments where Sam acted out and surprised himself didn’t ruin things enough to throw his entire strategy off track.

Sam replayed the scene as the bartender poured his fifth shot of whiskey, musing, “Deep thinking and booze?  Sure it’s a good idea?” while she leaned forward, conversationally.

“Least I’m not drinking and texting,” Sam countered with a grin, tossing back the shot and tapping the table.

She refilled his glass and agreed, “True.  Never leave evidence behind.  Anything I can help you with?”

She was openly flirting, and she hadn’t been the first one.  There had been a handful of women and a pair of men who’d approached Sam, and he hadn’t necessarily turned them down.    
  
All of them had been... _open-ended_ conversations.  Ones that left a ‘to be continued’ depending on how the night went and where Sam’s mood was.  He wanted to keep his options open, and made it very clear.  He dressed for a night out to _undress_ —initially, for Dean—but in the case of it not working, someone would win a second place trophy.

He had a feeling this bartender would make it up on the podium.  She had the most brilliant and familiar green eyes.  And Sam was _always_ taken with green eyes.

“You wanna help?” Sam echoed, catching her gaze and her attention.  “Deep thinking is usually a solo activity.  Conversation, on the other hand,” he raised a flirtatious eyebrow, finger circling the rim of the glass.

After glancing down the length of the bar to see if anyone needed her immediate attention, she decided, “Conversation, I can do.  So what’s your story…?”

“Sam.  My name is Sam.”  He gave her what Dean always called his floppy-puppy expression, making himself read as open and available.  After all, it was rounding on midnight with no signs of his brother.  “My story?  I’m passing through a town I’ve passed through countless times.  And I’ve never been to a bar here.  Starting to think that was a big mistake.  What’s your name?”

The bartender grinned and gracefully tossed up another shot glass, the cup flipping three times in the air before landing elegantly in her palm.  She topped off both their drinks before saying, “Name’s Eisley.  The only thing good about Cicero?  Is the bar.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”  Sam smirked, raising his glass to meet hers.  “Gotta be _someone_ special here, right?”

“And that’d be me!”  Dean’s voice boomed next to him, making Sam choke on his shot, but Eisley laughed and poured him a round.

“Heya, Dean.  Haven’t seen you out here in a hot second.  How’s the fam?” she asked with curiosity, and it fucking figured, Dean _would_ know everyone in this town.  At least those who served up the booze.

What Sam noticed, however, was that there was already a slur in his voice as he choked back the liquor and turned to the woman, “Good, good.  And you?  How’s grad school comin’?”

“Last semester,” she replied, making all three doubles, and jeering her thumb over toward him.  “Meet Sam.  Deep thinking, stunning conversationalist.”

“Oh?”  Dean’s forehead scrunched up in suspicion.  “See, I know this kid.  Last time I saw him, he was awkward and goofy.  Tell me, girl, just how _stunning_ is he?”

Fuck.   _Fuck_ , if this wasn’t a trap, Sam didn’t know what was.  
  
Except, he had the upper-hand, seeing as how Dean was tripping over his syllables and Sam was still poised, despite the liquor.  So he slung his arm over Dean shoulders and watched a blush spread, his freckles goddamn gorgeous, before he bit his lip.

“How did you manage to get drunk before heading to the bar, Dean?  Last I checked, there was no hard liquor at the house for you to pregame,” Sam inquired, making sure to keep it light.  Once Eisley realized they knew each other, she made sure they never had empty glasses, and returned to her job.

Thank God, now Dean wouldn’t know how he was…kind of slowly seducing her.

Still, Dean was glaring daggers at him when he said, “There are ‘bout seven bars you could’a gone to in the area.  Kinda like here, where people know me.  Couldn’t just peek in without saying hi and stoppin’ for a drink.  My odds were shit, this is my _fifth_ stop.”

“Wow, so popular.”  Sam laughed aloud, the thought of Dean being known, by name, by all these people who bought him drinks—?  It made him feel bad for assuming the worst, and it was another nail in the coffin that worked against him.

This was a community Dean was apart of.  He also had friends, neighbors, it wasn’t merely Ben and Lisa.  There was so much more Dean had built here, something that he never had before outside the hunter community (where your friends died fast) and it took time and trust to accomplish these bonds.    
  
That realization made Sam release him.    
  
Very suddenly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know why Dean _was_ here.  Why he’d sought him out in the first place.  If he’d been on a bar crawl, he’d said hi to all these people, maybe some of them along the way made Dean realize he wasn’t ready to say goodbye to at all.    
  
That thought made Sam reached for the whiskey and drained it.

“Hey.  You all right?”  Dean’s arm extended and wrapped around Sam’s waist, which was…shocking, given where they were and the company surrounding them.  He leaned in further, nose almost brushing against Sam’s ear to say, “So did you put those clothes on for me to rip off?  Or someone else?”

Sam couldn’t hold back, turning towards him with an impish, “Would you be jealous?”  
  


“Damn right, I would be.”  There was no hesitation.

In fact, there was a vehement scowl telling Sam he better keep any and all of his previous romps to himself, or else he may get his ass kicked.  ...That thought actually gave him a rush.

“Yeah,” Sam’s voice was husky with confidence, “I may have dressed up for you.  But I honestly didn’t think you’d show.  I’m surprised you’re here.  Why _did_ you come out?  Did you get your head and your thoughts sorted?”

None of it was meant as a dialogue piece, it was all to spark Dean, to stoke a fire.  It was to rile him up, because when Dean was drunk?  This was the easiest time, the _best_ time, to get down to the nitty gritty.  To get back to being _them_.    
  
This was how ‘they’ happened in the first place, after all.  And...how they _kept_ happening.  Even though both Dean and Sam came to accept what they had much more quickly than any pair of… _lovers_ should have.

“If you honestly didn’t think I’d show, and you _still_ dressed like that?  Oh, Sammy, you’ve got another thing coming.”  Dean clucked his tongue, and Sam was thrilled he wasn’t alone in this.  He downright blossomed with Dean’s words, “Dunno if I got it sorted out, but I can’t get you out of my head.  How could I not come out?  Seriously, how could I keep away?  When have I ever been able to?”

Each phrase brought Dean’s lips closer towards him until they were brushing against the shell of Sam’s ear.  His breath was shaking as he reached out to get their bartender’s attention.  Although Dean jerked backwards at Eisley’s presence, Sam leaned forward to say, “Two double shots, then the bill?”

“Oh, hush!”  She clucked her tongue, easily explaining, “Dean’s given me multiple rides each time my old Ford craps out on me.  He and his friends drink for free.”

“Thanks, doll.”  Dean smiled sincerely at her.  “You seriously need to ditch that sucker.  Don’t wanna be drivin’ at the wrong place, wrong time!”

“Maybe you can help me pick a new one out?” Eisley suggested, and Dean missed a beat before he pasted on a huge smile.  

One that seemed oddly forced.

“I’d love to.”

She seemed excited about the proposition and exclaimed, “I’ll have to hop over and see ya soon!  Have a good night, Dean!”  With a slower, flirtatious drawl (because, why not—Dean was with Lisa, right?) she winked, “Nice to meet you, Sam.  Hope to see you ‘round.”

Dean didn’t like that.  It was evident by how quickly he threw back the double-shot just like it was a single.  Sam took a little more time, even when Dean asked obviously, “How close is your hotel?” and he tried not to balk.  Was this _really_ happening?

Sam tried his damnedest to muffle the victorious grin (hoping he wasn’t getting ahead of himself) when he hopped off the bar stool.  “It’s walking distance,” he answered, waving him on to follow.

Naturally, Dean accused, “You did that on purpose, didn’t you?” without any real venom.

No, instead there was an underlying excitement.

For the first time, Sam felt apprehensive.

Until this moment, he was in all-out mission-mode to get Dean back.    
  
He could blame being drunk, but Sam wondered as they walked: was this really for the greater good?  Was it really best for Dean, for his life?  To erase all that he had built and put it in the rearview mirror— _their_ rearview mirror?    
  
Sam having witnessed it first hand, rather than from a distance, knew this was a real, genuine life.  Not something as hollow as their fake IDs and dress-up, or Dean playing a role until his life made sense again.  Or faking it, as they both had, if only to make it until the next day.  This was worked, time-honed and fought for, and Sam—

All thoughts rationale vanished when they opened the motel room door.

Sam’s moral compass was sent spinning in circles because the room was suddenly spinning, their bodies colliding in the most physical way.  It made Sam’s reunion kiss look like child’s play, Dean pawing at both their clothing as he licked Sam’s mouth open.

The taste of whiskey and Dean’s hot hands were all but a memory before now.  Sam had convinced himself he’d never have them again, until he acted on impulse today—placing himself back into Dean’s path once more.  Even though it was a gamble, the way they tumbled onto the mattress made everything worth it.

Hell, they were so desperate, their jeans were pooled around their ankles before they could actually shrug their jackets off.  A brief flash of autonomy allowed them to peel away the leather after their fingers busied themselves with buttons and zippers.  Once they were tossed to the floor, Dean’s mouth was sucking a bruise, a brand, against Sam’s neck.  
  
Sam wondered if he could get away with the same thing—

But...he didn’t want to break this glass house.  Not _quite_ yet.  Not with his future plans and tactics still in play.  Despite his own surprising, emotional setbacks—all his chess pieces were still on the board.

Instead, Sam propelled them forward.  He ground their hips together, both erections rock-hard and straining, while precum dampening the fabric of their boxers.    
  
God, that was the friction they needed—their moans echoing off the cheap wallpaper.  Sam grabbed a fistful of Dean’s hair to draw their lips back together because while he was certain (he was _beyond_ certain, he needed this) he didn’t want Dean to regret it.

Setting a tempo, they rocked together—neither willing to pull away from the long overdue, enticing make-out quite yet.  Sam forced his initial animal-like touch to melt into something softer.  Fuck, he wanted nothing more than to pin Dean down and take him—he still planned on it—Sam needed to see what was going on in that head of his.

After sucking Dean’s lip swollen, he drew away just enough to whisper the husky demand, “Dean, tell me, what do you want?”

“To get this skin-tight shirt off you, you floozy,” he chuckled, nails already under the v-neck and raking across Sam’s abs.  “You just gotta push boundaries, huh?  Drive me crazy?”

“You should be the one to talk—” Sam gasped as Dean rolled his nipple into hardness.  “Dean!  C’mon—”  Fuck, he didn’t want to admit it, but that was definitely a whine, and he was under his brother’s control until said shirt was torn from his body.  

Once he was free, that was another story.  Sam was eager to take back that control.  
  
It started with Sam using sheer strength and muscle to wrangle Dean up and over—slamming him on his back.  He collided with the force to, not only bounce the bed, but knock the headboard into the wall.  With the air punched from his lungs, he was momentarily mute and gasping—his lustful gaze locked with Sam only heightened.    
  
Sam knew damn well Dean liked it rough.  It wasn’t a guess but a fact no one had, or could’ve, given it to him as brutally as Sam could in over a half year.  And right now: Dean was _thriving_ in the physicality.

That’s when Sam decided to show and not tell—pushing a boundary he wasn’t going to initially.  One that Dean would either allow or shove him away from.    
  
When they fucked like this, neither held back—it wouldn’t be anything shocking or new if Dean threw an elbow, or kneed Sam if he didn’t like something.  

Just to be sure, Sam moved deliberately, so Dean didn’t need to read his mind to know what he was doing.

While Sam’s hand dove under Dean’s boxers to grab his cock, his mouth also descended on Dean’s neck.  At first, he nibbled, Dean’s wanton moan coupled with a full body roll had him arching off the mattress.  Still, Sam hadn’t been pushed away yet, so he moved forward—fisting Dean’s cock and finally adding pressure with his mouth—sucking a mark against Dean’s throat.

One that would be obvious.  Undeniable.  One he couldn’t hide from Lisa.

In Sam’s peripheral, two hands reached up, and at first he thought Dean was going to choke him—

—but they knotted in his hair and held him closer.

Sam bucked down wildly, rutting against Dean’s thigh, because if this wasn’t a sign of him saying yes?  That he belonged to Sam again?  He didn’t know what could be more telling.

Now, he couldn’t get enough.

With the fingers twisting and tangling in his locks, Sam was inspired, encouraged, and continued to bite and suck along the column of Dean’s neck.  He moved down to Dean’s collarbone, pulling the most delicious sounds from his brother.  Sam worked hungrily, teasing and taunting all the way down to the elastic of his boxers—the last items left on both their bodies.  
  
The only thing separating them.

He glanced upward as he snapped the waistband, still making sure Dean was with him.

“Don’t got all day, Sammy,” came the wrecked complaint, and Sam lit up like a firework.

Sam knew playtime was over.

Sure, he could toy with Dean more, maybe suck his cock through the cotton.  Make him beg for it. But the truth was they’d been apart for too long.  So he ripped the fabric away, and while he was at it, Sam hauled off his own boxers.  

There was a moment of silence where Dean had previously been gasping and keening, one that forced Sam to glance up and see his brother reaching out.  He paused in confusion, but Dean quickly supplied the answer for him.

He sat up enough to run his fingers over Sam’s upper thigh towards his hip, worry etched on his face when he said, “That’s new—”

Sam wasn’t sure whether to jerk away because it was still tender, still healing, or continue on.  He went with, “Yeah, pack of shifters,” which was the truth.

That seemed to cause Dean more need for concern as he echoed, “A fuckin’ _pack_?”

“Strange days, I told you,” Sam was honest and leaned down to spread Dean out.  “Another reason I want you by my side.”  Everything was still so fragile, he refused to spook him.

“Yeah,” Dean wrapped a leg around Sam’s waist from where he pitched forward, “I would’a gutted anyone or anything that touched you.”

“Heh, I know.  How about we get back to touching each other?” he countered, flicking his tongue over Dean’s parted lips.

Dean chased after him, stealing an open-mouthed kiss and demanding, “You better have fuckin’ lube.”

“I was optimistic,” Sam confirmed with a wide grin, and to be honest?  He felt untouchable.

Seeing Dean underneath him, freshly marked, desperate and mouthy, legs spread while Sam grabbed the small bottle and coated his fingers…it was everything he could’ve wanted.  Except, it got even better when he pushed the first one in with no resistance.

Sam tried to swallow down his moan, glancing up to see Dean, haughty and cocky, and circled another finger around his rim.  “Did you…?”

Dean echoed back, “ _I_ was optimistic.”  He raised his hips in encouragement and whispered a filthy, “I had an empty house to myself this afternoon.  Maybe I got bored.  Maybe I was thinking about you.  Maybe I really, _really_ wanted to be stuffed full of your cock.”

These days, nothing surprised Sam.  For some reason, ever since he came back from Hell, he had this sixth sense, or this resounding…clarity.    
  
Except Dean...always managed the impossible—Sam was surprised.  
  
His dick pulsed and leaked precum as he easily slid finger after finger into Dean’s clenching hole.  It was like Dean was starved for him.  The goading demands, the gasps of, " _Sammy, more_ ,” were almost too much.

Once he was four fingers deep, stretching Dean’s rim and stroking his insides, Sam took a chance to watch him.  Dean was lust drunk, fucking himself down on Sam’s fingers and needy—it made his mouth water.  The urge to take was so goddamn overpowering, and this was Dean’s last chance to turn back.

When Sam pulled away, Dean’s whimper was prelude to the question on Sam’s lips, one that he asked while making a show of lubing up his bare cock.  “Tell me you choose me, Dean.  Tell me you’ll always choose me.”

What he hadn’t expected was Dean sitting up, pushing Sam back to his haunches, so he was unable to loom over him anymore.

“Are you fucking dense?” he asked, a hint of hurt behind Dean’s words.  “Of course, I’ll choose you, every goddamn time.”

Now that Dean had more height on Sam…

Was there a hint of resentment?  No, Sam _couldn’t_ have Dean resenting him, not after—

He pursed his lips, bound and determined to fix this because ‘giving up’ wasn’t what Dean Winchester did.  Sam had to change the way Dean thought about it, because there was no way in hell that they were about to have pity sex!  This _wasn’t_ Dean throwing in the towel!

“Sammy?”  Confusion was evident in his voice, because right now, yeah—Sam _should_ be balls deep in him.  “You heard me.  I—”

“Is this what you want?” Sam reworded the question.  “ _Want_ , Dean.  It’s different…and it matters.”

It didn’t really matter to Sam, he knew that he had Dean no matter what.    
  
What was important was Dean’s point of view going into this.  Sam knew from experience what even the smallest hint of bitterness could transform into.    
  
They needed a clean slate, they needed each other and trust—or as close to trust as they could get.  Sam hoped the light bulb flickered soon, because his cock was aching with neglect, being so close to Dean and not having him—

“I…” Dean looked dumbfounded, like he didn’t know that came with the deal.  “’Course I want you.  You know that.”

“Then don’t sound like you’re giving in.  You’re making me feel like I’m the only option, that you don’t get a choice.  I want you to be with me because you _want to_ , not because you _have to_ or your past is catching up with you.”  Sam sure as hell was using his puppy eyes, he’d use any tool he had available to get this moving.  “If you love them more than me then stay, I understand—”

“No, _no_ ,” Dean’s words were passionate, he wrapped his arms around Sam’s neck and drug them back down.  Right where Sam wanted them. “Fuck—you know damn well.  You’re it. Don’t think _anyone’s_ gonna replace you, Sammy, I—”

All the right words, the feelings, and now Dean’s head was _finally_ in the right goddamn place—so Sam tilted his chin _just-so_ to hide his flashing smirk and slid into Dean’s body.

The best part was the look in Dean’s eyes, of utter rapture, as he was stretched on Sam’s cock, overwhelmed by the sensation.    
  
This moment had been a long time coming, after months and months of watching Dean from afar, and...it felt like home.  Sam—for the first time since Hell—felt complete.  Wrapped up in Dean’s tight heat, he grappled for his brother’s hips before he began moving.

He couldn’t wait for Dean to give him the okay.  Dean couldn’t form words to save his life, while Sam craved every plunge like it was his last lungful of air.

Coming together, being one, it was part of this missing piece Sam had been searching for.

Finally, Dean’s hips lifted up to meet each of Sam’s violent, deep thrusts—fucking into him hard and fast enough to rearrange his insides.  Each curse and shout from Dean reaffirmed exactly how he loved it, how he was getting off on it.  He bucked and ground each time their skin slapped together, damp with sweat and riding close to that edge.

“N-need you, Sammy,” Dean gasped, his thumb tracing that new goddamn scar again, making Sam shiver.  Maybe him noticing was for the best—as a sign they were in it together, as hunting partners in the future.  “Fuck, already—”

Sam felt a rumble of joy in his chest, Dean’s body clenching around him sent out another jolt of tremors.  “Y-yeah, let me watch you, Dean.”  He picked up the pace, determined to make this mind-blowing.

The speed, the friction and the angle was all tailored to make Dean scream, and it worked—he grabbed the back of Sam’s neck and held on tight.  God, the sight was magnificent, he watched Dean spill release over both their bodies with a shudder of satisfaction before their lips collided.  Dean’s cum aided the glide of their chests, their stomachs and they kissed each other for all they were worth.  
  
It was Dean’s passion, the fierce way he loved, that pushed Sam over the edge.  When Sam pumped Dean full of his own load, there was a sense of suspended disbelief.  That this pleasure was _real_ _—_

Sam hadn’t felt intimacy like this with any of his partners.

He had never felt the need to hold, to caress, to show affection (let alone love)—but he couldn’t stop touching Dean.

The familiarity was grounding, the rhythm of his heart as it began to slow down was centering, and each gasped breath when both couldn’t decided if kissing or breathing was more important just made sense.

Sam refused to give this up.

He resolutely would not allow Dean to go back on his promise—to go back to Lisa and Ben, no matter what.

They belonged together, the natural order would always be them against the world.  Each heartfelt smile, every snappy joke, each sensual, nuanced movement while they were together in bed—it was for Sam.  He had never felt this level of…whatever _this_ was.    
  
This ownership was consuming, and Sam’s passing fantasies were alarming when it came to the lengths he’d go to make sure that Dean remained by his side.  Because for a few passing moments, that was all Sam would think about.  Being with him, keeping him.

As they laid there in the afterglow, Sam had to soften his internal monologue and sweetly ask Dean, “You’re staying right here, right?”

“Don’t think I got much choice,” he thought aloud, but shuffled closer to Sam.  “Not that I’d wanna leave, anyway.”

“You’re talking about the marks, huh.”  Sam’s voice was hushed, like he was concerned—but it was all a show: for his brother’s sake.

“ _And_ the whole, smelling like sex, cum dripping between my legs, thing.”  Dean chuckled, and couldn’t help but add, “Fuck, I missed this.”

“Being with a guy?” Sam voiced his own curiosity.

Dean flicked him in the shoulder with a snort.  “No, dumbass.  Being with you.  Damn, you're needy.  And I thought I was the one who…” he trailed off and shook his head, effectively ending that thought.

Sam already knew that whatever that train was, it was a losing battle to try to catch up to it.  
  
Instead, he pulled Dean closer, taking on a battle he could win.  “How can I help?”

“Let’s…worry about that in the morning…” Dean decided after a lull.  “Right now, I wanna take this all in.  Be happy.  Not worry about the ifs and whens.  Jus’ be with you.”

The slur in his voice was a sudden reminder that concerned Sam.  He found himself asking, “This wasn’t because you were drunk—”

“ _Hell no_.  Did I finger myself earlier, because I was drunk?  Use that brain’a yours, I’ve been thinking about you from the second you walked through that door.  It was a done deal.  The liquid courage, uh, made me drop my guard, let me let it happen and…I’ll deal with the rest tomorrow.”  Dean nuzzled against Sam’s neck, the tickle of his stubble making him smile.  “Or you can help me.  Yer good with those plans.”

If only Dean knew just _how_ good.

“Of course, I’ll help you.  We’ll make it as easy as possible.  If you want, we can even…just be together for a little while.  Not even go back to hunting right away,” Sam whispered against the mess of Dean’s hair under his chin, thoughtfully.  “Being with you, I— _fuck_ , I should have done it sooner.  So much sooner.”

There was a beat where both men knew the gravity of just how true those words were.    
  
They both wished it.  They both knew it would have been easier.  They both wanted it.  
  
However, the mistake had already been made, and they were moving forward in any way they could.  Bygones would be bygones, eventually.  There was a helluva band-aide that needed ripping in a different part of town, leading to a potentially gaping wound—but tonight was for them.  
  
Holding each other, making up for lost time, pretending it was only them, and no one existed else outside these motel room walls.  That, right there, was where Dean was happy and easily fell asleep, not moving once through the night.

…what Dean didn’t know?

Was that while he was happily passed out, snoring lightly and wrapped around Sam...Sam didn’t sleep.

It was strange.  Sam hadn’t told anymore.  He was a freak who got spit out of the pit for no apparent reason.  He didn’t want to add to the mystery by admitting he didn’t sleep, either.  No, that was something he’d keep to himself.

Instead, Sam used that time for ‘good,’ and it gave him a chance to think about his brother’s predicament.  Up until now, he’d only been in it for himself.  
  
Sam had got he wanted.  He had won.  Now, he had to soothe things over, make things better for what he’d claimed as his.

Sam mused over concepts, even the thought of faking Dean’s death—but perhaps that would be too cruel?

The majority of the night was spent soaking in Dean’s warmth, feeling the old weight against him, and…smiling.

These oddities rarer and rarer by the day, and he couldn’t even tell his brother how goddamn important it was.

He’d indulge.  They could brainstorm over coffee and breakfast at a diner.  After all, Sam’s victory was so sweet, he should be ‘sleeping’ right now, shouldn’t he?  Yes, he’d soak up every early morning moment until the sun rose, and Dean along with it.  He figured he deserved it, Sam had come this far.


	3. Chapter 3

 

  
A night of brainstorming flooded Sam’s thoughts as he toiled over the easiest way to help Dean out of this situation.  

Except...each and every time Sam imagined a scenario playing out, about how Dean could ‘let Lisa down easy,’ he couldn’t help but see him buckling under the pressure.  Easy, in this situation, didn’t necessarily mean effective.  
  
Yes, maybe in the past, Dean could’ve done a better job of tying up a loose end.  But Sam had been watching him (albeit, from a distance) for the over six months and fundamental things inside his previously-hardened brother had changed drastically.

Dean wasn’t a feral hunter anymore, he’d been... _domesticated_ by this family—it ruffled Sam’s feathers.

While he mused over different schemes, he couldn’t help but feel drawn in by the heavy weight on his chest.  The warmth of Dean. How everything felt right in the world.  How anything besides what they had, here and now, was _wrong_.  
  
Sam’s tactics took a different turn, they regressed back to his initial approach, disregarding the fact Dean had chosen him.

There couldn’t be any ‘letting them down easy.’

No, that would leave the door open for Dean returning to them.  Because, no matter how much Sam wished to deny it, Dean had in the past.

There had been a time when Dean second-guessed _them_ before.  When he had wondered about Ben being his kid, about what would happen if he had that life with Lisa, rather than living in sin with his brother.  About doing right by his son, if he had one—

 _That_ wound took a helluva long time to heal over.

Sure, the first time Dean had been with Lisa, he and Sam hadn’t been what they were today.  They were too young, nothing had developed besides hormones.  The next time Dean showed up at Lisa’s, doing the math and finding the timeline with Ben fit, Sam witnessed something in his brother that scared the fuck out of him.

Sam saw himself losing Dean.  He was terrified that Dean would swap him out for Lisa, rock-salt and holy water in exchange for normalcy.

Of course, it didn’t happen.  Nothing would ever come between them, both Sam and Dean knew that.    
  
Although, having seen that flash of yearning, Sam planning his sacrifice and knowing that he would be gone anyway, that was the reason he’d sent Dean (with his Hell-bound blessing) towards the pair.    
  
He wasn’t in the Cage.  Sam was cleaning up his own mistake.  He needed to burn it all down.

There were only a few courses of action that would work, and it was up to Sam to set things into motion.  Luckily, he had the stomach for all of them.

When Sam glanced down, he smiled—Dean was so far gone, so comfortable, he didn’t notice Sam sneakily maneuver out from under him.  He was sleeping like a baby.  
  
A sight like this was rare, it only happened after they finished a big case.  When they warded their room from top to bottom, and decided to spend the night working on _them_.

Now that he thought about it, that’s exactly what last night had been.

Except now, Sam needed Dean to sleep a little bit longer as he ran an…errand.

It was a task only he could do.

It was in the early hours of the morning when Sam knocked on a familiar door to a familiar house.  Except today, he wasn’t here to spy.  He wasn’t here to corner his brother.  He was here to see a different person who called this house their home.

It took a while—three bouts of knocking, to be exact—but eventually Lisa appeared at the door.  She pulled the fluffy, baby pink robe tightly around her body, weary, like she didn’t get a wink of sleep.

Lisa was attempting to conceal the anxiety in her voice when she stepped aside, feigning a smile and greeting, “Oh, Agent, please, come in.  Let me get you some coffee—”  Sam following her confidently into the kitchen.  “Is there something else I could call you?  I know you’re close with Dean, and titles are so…informal.  Especially with him.  What’s your name?”

Yes, the fatigue from a sleepless night was evident in her tone and her ramblings.  He could probably say his own name, Lisa was so damn frazzled, and she wouldn’t connect the dots.

“Call me Joe,” he said warmly, and then got to the point of his visit.  “I’m sorry it’s so early.  I just—”

“Have you heard from Dean?” she interrupted, Sam surprised by the nerves in her voice as she shakily filled the already-brewed coffee into the cup.  Before Sam could answer, Lisa groaned and asked, “Sorry, do you take cream or sugar?”

Sam found this intriguing.

This family unit was very real.  She was like a worried wife, except it wasn’t merely about her husband’s well being—she knew he was a hunter.  That fact made her twice as concerned.  Sam was interested by the scene unfolding before him, witnessing how deep Lisa was in it with his own eyes.

“Just a little cream is good,” he answered, keeping her in suspense—because he could.    
  
Sam wanted to see how far she may unravel.  All because of curiosity.

Once she prepared both the coffees, Lisa took a seat across from him where he’d settled at the breakfast nook, looking on in anticipation.    
  
She began, “I’m sorry, I cut you off earlier, Joe.  It’s just…I’m preoccupied about Dean.  He didn’t come home last night, and I’m worried.  He _always_ answers his phone, and I haven’t heard from him, I…” Lisa sighed and ran a hand through her hair.  “I didn’t get much sleep.”

 _‘Clearly_ ,’ Sam wanted to say—she looked a mess.  He raised the mug to his lips and took a sip.  This was the good stuff, even though it had a bitter after-taste that came with old, reheated coffee.  How long had she been up?  Was she been brewing coffee all night long, waiting for Dean to return or call her back?

“That’s actually what I came by to talk to you about.”  Sam slapped on his mask: the caring, understanding one, and told her, “Dean’s fine, I promise.”  Lisa all but collapsed at the news, a glow flashed across her face when he announced it.  “Last night, we went out for drinks.  I actually wanted to give you a head’s up.”

Lisa, now worry-free, beamed at him when she asked, “Okay, what do I need to know?”

“A bar that we went to, there was a chick and she was…kind of aggressive.  You’ll understand soon enough.”  Sam laughed, putting his next plan into action by disclaiming, “But last night, he crashed with me.  For the entire night.  He’s still sleeping it off, we got a little rowdy, I left him some water and aspirin.  I wanted to give you the facts so you didn’t jump to conclusions.”

“Oh...”  She squinted and tilted her head.  “Thank you.  For taking care of him, I mean.”  The exhausted relief had sunken her shoulders and she took a sip of her coffee.  She admitted, “Dean’s always been a lady’s man, even when he’s not looking for it.  Lord knows how pushy some girls can get.  And I trust him.  I’m glad you told me, though.  He’s not very good at putting his thoughts and words together when he’s hungover.”

This time, Sam’s smile was genuine.

The stage was set.  He'd paved the way.  And Sam hadn’t told a single lie.

Well, maybe a lie about an ‘aggressive girl’ but that was small in the grand scheme of things.  What mattered, was that Dean couldn’t be mad at him because he _had_ told Lisa everything.  Better yet, it seemed to put her mind at ease, which was what he’d hoped.  
  
Although, _Dean_ had no idea what he was walking into, and if Sam’s plan worked out?

Whatever conversation, whatever excuse Dean brought up would backfire spectacularly and Sam would look like the sweet little brother ‘making an excuse’ and giving Dean another chance to think it over, if that’s what he wanted.

Although, he’d never give him the heads up.  Because Sam wanted all of this to fall apart.  He needed this family unit to be torn down, with no means of rebuilding.  
  
This time, Sam refused to give Dean the mere option of crawling back to Lisa and Ben if things went south.

“Yeah, he’s pretty funny when he’s hungover, isn’t he?” Sam agreed with her, and knew his time was limited, he had to take off.  “Well, I’m sure he’ll be getting up soon.  If he’s not when I head back to the motel, I’ll kick his ass into gear and send him your way.  Sorry for being a bad influence.”

“No, no!  Dean needs, well...”  Lisa hummed, searching for the word.  “He needs his own friends.  Ones he can have strong and meaningful relationships with.  I don’t know if you were aware, because of your…medical situation, but he just lost his brother.”  She pursed his lips, and Sam had to control both his fight-or-flight instinct and his expression.  “And Sam was _everything_ to Dean.  Sure, he’s made new friends since it happened, here.  But those relationships don’t run as deep as the friendship he has with you.  I want more of that for him.”

She waved a hand and shook her head, “Look at me!  All nostalgic and reflective _way_ too early in the morning!  That’s what I get for waiting up.”

“No, I understand, Lisa,” Sam implored.  “I _do_ know.  How close Dean was with his brother.  It was something we talked about last night, one of the reasons we, uh, drank so much.  All that catching up and making up for lost time, you know?  I’ll make sure he explains himself better in the future.  Although, I don’t know how much longer I’ll be around.”

Lisa appeared thoughtful, open and happy.  “I appreciate it.  Just like I everything you’ve done for him.  And for coming by this morning, so I didn’t rip my hair out.”  She rose as Sam stood up and walked him to the door.  “I hope you stay in town a little longer.  I’d love to see more of you, Joe.  I know damn well it’s good for Dean.”

Sam had to muffle the smirk that threatened to tug on his cheeks.  Instead, he offered, “I try to be good for Dean, in my own way.  Thank you for the coffee.  Get some rest while you can and have a good day, Lisa.”

“You, too.”

Hopefully, those would be the last words he ever heard from her, Sam thought wistfully, as he walked back to the car he’d been traveling with.  His strides were normally confident, but right now they were downright cocky.

This was perfect.  The interaction, Lisa’s lowered guard, Dean’s soon-to-be heightened guard, the way they would collide and crumble…  It was the only way to ensure the Dean stayed with him, and he had no other out.

Sam would grab coffee and breakfast on the way back to the motel, just in case Dean hadn’t left yet.  It was a crapshoot, but if he saw his brother, he had already planned what to tell him as well.  No new texts from Dean suggested he was still sleeping, and Sam was inclined to wake him up in the best way possible, if that were the case…

Life was fucking weird.  When Dean woke up, he was cold in the bed and _alone_ —not feeling another body pressed against his was completely foreign to him.  Damn, he was spoiled.  If someone had told him that at this point in his life, he’d be waking up next to another person who loved him _every morning,_ he would’ve called bullshit and clocked them.

Still, between Sam and… _fuck,_ Lisa…he was blessed.

He had made his decision last night: to wake up next to _Sam_ every morning.    
  
The fact there was even a choice in the first place—after watching his brother dive into to the pit—didn’t make him hesitate, Dean didn't have to think on it.  They were each other’s, they could never escape fate.  They souls connected on a whole different level that made them inseparable.  And...Dean wouldn't have it any other way.  
  
Today, he had to follow through with one of the most difficult things he could imagine doing.  Lisa and Ben…they didn’t deserve this—to be hurt like this.  They were caught in the crossfire of hunting and someone Dean _couldn’t stop loving_ making a shocking return to his life.    
  
Dean couldn’t live a lie, right?  
  
Choosing Sam was easy, letting go of Lisa and Ben... _that_ was gonna hurt.

He sat up abruptly when he heard the door unlock, his eyes darting around to see where the hell his gun was—

“Hey!”  Sam’s voice fell a lilt when he saw Dean, even though he _was_ armed with caffeine and breakfast.  “Was kinda hoping you’d still be asleep.”  He crossed the room and set the items on the bedside table.

Dean’s stomach grumbled on cue and he snatched up the breakfast burrito once within reach.  “Oh yeah?  Why is that?” he asked in-between bites, “Me sleeping gives us a cold breakfast!”

“Well, there’s a microwave...”  Sam scooted in, close enough to Dean on the bed that his breath ghosted against his neck.  The proximity sent a shiver down his spine.  “And I thought waking you up with my mouth around your cock would be a great way to start the day—”

“ _Jesus_ , Sam!”  His stomach and his heart swapped places, and a pulse of arousal made him tingle.  “Don’t just…say that shit!  I…”

“Why not?”  The goddamn tease...all casual and crap!  Sam pressed light, butterfly-like kisses down the column of Dean’s throat, making breakfast not quite as appealing as it once was.  “Just telling the truth.  Speaking of, I ran another errand.  Dropped by to tell Lisa you were alive and you spent the night with me.  Thought I’d help you out a bit.”

That made Dean freeze in his tracks.

“ _What_?”  It was incredulous, and the only word he could form.

Sam had other plans, opting to kiss him full on the mouth, before he pressed another to his brow.  “Like I said, I just wanted to help you.”

Dean couldn’t help the magnetic-like pull that drew him towards Sam, but after one more bite, the burrito was demolished and he was sinking against his brother’s warmth.  Yeah, he was freaking out, but if Sam had actually gone out of his way to jump-start the process?  Maybe…Dean _could_ do this.

He could really do this!

“Thank you,” he said on a shaky exhale, wrapping his fingers through the long hair at the nape of Sam’s neck.  “You’re…fuck—”

With utter mischief, Sam countered, “Maybe that’s how I’ll wake you up next time,” and cupped Dean’s cheeks, both surging forward to kiss the air from the other’s lungs.    
  
It was amazing, Dean missed feeling every nuance now that he was actually sober.  He soaked in every moment because it wasn’t a surprise-attack at the house, and they could just…be.

Sam surprised him again with, “I told Lisa I’d send you on your way.  I think she wants to talk.”

“Talk,” Dean repeated ruefully.  “You mean scream at me, kick my ass and probably throw some dishes?”

“No,” he soothed.  “I think you’ll be surprised.”

Dean put enough distance between them to stare Sam down in the eyes, because that…didn’t make any sense.  Yet, he found sincerity there, support, yeah—love—and with Sam in his corner…Dean _could_ do this.

“Well, everything’s a surprise these days.”  Dean stood up and looked around to gather his discarded clothing.  
  
There was no rhyme or reason to where the clothes had landed, and a few articles had to be tugged on and removed when he realized they were Sam’s.  Dean was rushing, dressing quickly (not because he wanted to get back to Lisa) because—goddamn—the room was cold!

It also made him grab the piping hot coffee, if only to get some heat and go-juice running through his veins before he turned back to Sam.

“What’s your plan?  Where are you gonna be?”  Dean didn’t know _why_ he was on-edge.  Maybe it had to do with his worry that this _was_ all still a dream?  That being with Sam was too damn good to be true.  “Are you—?”

“I’ll be right here.”  Sam noticed Dean was still looking for his jacket, his height gave him an advantage.  
  
He had to reach, but Sam snatched up Dean’s jacket that had been flung _behind_ the TV.  Wow, points for distance.  When he handed it over and Dean pulled it on, Sam now had the lapels of the leather to grasp for purchase.    
  
He tugged with an impish smirk.  “I’ll be right where you need me to be.  Waiting for you.  Just…oh.”  Suddenly, he dug Dean’s phone out of his pocket (never taking the easy squeeze of his rear for granted) and began doing…something.

Sam answered before he could be questioned, “Just realized you don’t have my new number.  What a trainwreck _that_ would be, right?”

“I’d find you anyway.”  Dean chuckled when Sam put his phone right back, and boldly announced, “No matter where your punk-ass is, I’ll find you.  You know that.”

“You _do_ have a tendency to show up everywhere.”  He was equally playful, and stole another kiss.  “Good luck?  Okay?”

“Thanks, bitch, I’m gonna need it.”  Dean’s hand was on the door and he could feel his brother’s eyes on his back.    
  
He turned around, taking in the picture before him.  One he used to take for granted.  
  
It led Dean to confess, “You got no idea how happy I am.  That you’re back.  No matter how long it took for you to come find me, I…” he groaned, cleared his throat and spit out, “Dumb chick-flick moments.  Anyway.  I didn’t know what I’d do without you, Sammy.  Now I’m glad I don’t have to wonder.”

Sam agreed and finally made a move to grab his breakfast, but his eyes never left Dean’s.  “No.  You don’t have to.  It’s us against the world, right?”

“Damn straight.”  Dean’s bravado rivaled the sinking feeling in his stomach, but there was nowhere else to go, no more time to procrastinate any longer.  
  
Dean wasn’t second-guessing his choice.  That wasn’t the issue here, at all.  The main, undeniable reason that his confidence faltered was because he was about to ruin Lisa’s world, _if_ Sam hadn’t already done so.

Dean stayed behind the wheel of the bang-up truck he had been driving for a damn long time.  He hadn’t pulled in the driveway yet, he was across the street looking into the house.  There was no way he could face this until Ben was on his way to class.  So he anxiously watched Lisa get him ready for school.

He refused to do this with the kid around, no way, no how.  Dean waited on pins and needles for the bus.

Then after the bus came and went, Dean had to wait even _longer_ to grow a pair and pull into the goddamn driveway!

He slapped his hand down on the wheel, knowing Sam had already done had half the work for him (or that’s what it sounded like) and Dean needed to fucking man up and end it!  It wasn’t like some random ‘Agent’ could do a break up _for you._    
  
Sure, it’d be nice to let Sam take control of the entire thing, but Dean needed to show his face.  The deserved that much.  He couldn’t talk about his ‘proud decision’ with his tail tucked between his legs either.

Goddammit, Dean needed to own it—he’d already acted on it, Sam always came first.

There wasn’t an alternative, everyone knew it, and Dean wondered if that was part of what Sam had said to Lisa.  What they had was powerful—it was non-negotiable—and only Dean and Sam who knew how deeply their bond ran.  
  
While others couldn’t fathom the depth, they _did_ understand the weight.  
  
Friggin Heaven and Angel Radio broadcasted it through the airwaves from the jump.  Hell and every friggin demon they ran into taunted them constantly.  Dean always wondered if both their times in Hell could’ve leaked their secret to those soul down below?  Hunters knew they were a two-for-one deal…and now _Lisa_.

With a heaved breath, he finally shifted the car into drive again and pulled up in front of the house.

There was a small stagger in Dean’s already-bow-legged amble as he went to the front door, after all—it was been a while since he’d taken a dick.  Well, Sam’s, to be specific, since monogamy came into the picture early on.  And it was going to continue, which was why he was here: nipping this in the bud.

Before he could even pull out his key to get into the house, Lisa was there, the door was flung open and Dean froze.  
  


 

Her eyes darted to his neck—to the friggin Picasso-like masterpiece Sam had left him with—and her hand flew to her mouth.  She staggered backwards, which allowed Dean entry, but now he had to figure out exactly how much she knew and how much she didn’t.  Luckily, Lisa was the first one to speak and it gave Dean an edge.

“He warned me…but I didn’t think it would be that ‘aggressive.’”  Lisa grabbed the collar of his shirt, but before she could pull it down, Dean stopped her.  “I understand.  I get it…sometimes when your guard’s lowered and you’re drinking, things like that happen and—”

“Wait, _what_?”

It was like a record scratched, and the camera dramatically zoomed in on Dean’s frozen face.

Lisa’s arms flopped to the side and gestured for him to follow her into the living room.  “I was freaking out, you know?  When you wouldn’t text me or call me back.  I was about to call the damn cops, or find a hunter who knew you and see if—I don’t even know—if there was a _case_?!”  She collapsed down onto the couch, beckoning a gobsmacked Dean to join her.  “I’m glad your friend Joe explained everything.  That you were with him and all right.”

Okay, what the actual hell?

“Lisa, I…”  What could he say?  Was he _allowed to_?  What was even happening?!  “You’re okay with us?”  It was hesitant and stammered.

She reached out and grabbed Dean’s knee before closing the distance and pressing their lips together.  He did his best not to recoil because it felt so…wrong.  Except, his stunned mobility problems kind of helped him not jerk away from her affection, because he didn’t _get it,_ he didn’t _understand_ how she—

“Of course!”  Lisa laughed it off, her hand rising and running through his hair, “You need someone who understands, who you’ve got a strong connection with.  You don’t have anyone like that here, Dean.”

“Y-you...”  He glanced down at the hand on his leg.  “You know that even if _you’re_ okay with me and him, _he’s not_ okay with you and me, right?  Like, it doesn’t work that way.”

This was the very first thing that seemed to throw Lisa off.  She blinked widely and followed Dean’s gaze, noticing how he was shying away from her touch.

“What does that mean?”  Lisa sounded offended, and if anything scooted closer.  “He’s not one of those—”

“You mean, _you’re_ not one of those—” Dean tried, because he didn’t get what was going on!  “I think it’s amazing and…open of you, that you’re willing to be so cool about the situation.  But your kind of awesome isn’t popular opinion, at least with him, he’s not gonna wanna share…”

“Did he suffer some kind of brain damage in his coma?” she suddenly demanded with venom.  “What the hell kind of friend makes you shut out the other people in your life?  And why are you going along with it?!”

“F-friend?”  The word on his tongue suddenly solved _everything_.  
  
Except now, Dean was in a heap of shit all by himself.  “What _exactly_ did he tell you?  When he came over?”

“No!  You tell me what’s wrong with you, first!  Are you still drunk?  Did you—”  Her finger flew up with the accusations, but suddenly it donned on her, “...Is he a hunter?  Is he trying to pull you back, is _that_ it?!”

“Not…exactly.”  Dean was drowning.  He needed a fucking lifeguard.  He was out of his element, caught up in a shit-storm, and he had to take over control of the situation!  “Lisa, be honest with me!  What did he say when he came over here?  Tell me that much.”

“Honesty, _huh_?”  She laughed wryly and put distance between them.  “He told me that you stayed with him last night.  At the bar, there were some girls and, well, you two went back together so I had nothing to worry about.”

The rug under Dean’s feet was gone.  As if it had been there in the first place…

Sam was still letting this be his choice, if he was having second thoughts.  Of course his baby brother couldn’t break this woman’s heart, he didn’t have it in him—!    
  
It was so completely _Sam_ , it was painful—coming here to assure her that Dean was all right.  That he was safe, because he’d been radio-silent.  He’d even given Dean an out about the hickeys and bruises littering his neck!   _Fuck_ , Sam was too good to him, but now Dean had already dug his grave—

It didn’t matter.  This was a grave he’d already _chosen_ to dig.  He’d planned on this, and everything was already going to hell, he may as well slam on the gas pedal.

“Lise.”  Dean gathered his courage, although the fireball in front of him wasn’t going to handle this well.  This wasn’t how he wanted it to go, none of it was, and now…shit.  He _needed_ to finish it.  “Agent Plant wasn’t _just_  my best friend.  When I lost him, I thought I _had_ to move on, but now that he’s back…” he hoped she could fill in the pieces.

“Dean.”  Her voice was filled with red-alert warnings.  “Don’t give me any bullshit riddles.  Between hunting, your old baggage, and now _this_?  I need straight answers in plain English!  I don’t know what you’re talking about, especially since Joe—”

“Joe, huh?” he mused, laughing around the name.  “See, there’s nothing ‘straight’ about it.  He _was it_ for me.  Please tell me that’s clear enough?”  The wide eyes and dropped jaw told him as much.  “Like I said, thought he was dead.  The first time I saw him was yesterday, and I…my feelings haven’t changed.”

“So that’s what all this is?”  Lisa extended her reach and brushed her fingers across his neck, he winced, tender to the touch.  She crossed her arms and chewed her lip, knee bouncing as Dean…waited in limbo.

He tried to offer, “It wasn’t supposed to happen, I never thought—”

“ _Stop_!  Just stop!” she shouted and then lowered her voice.  “I get it.  You got the love of your life back.  But…” Lisa raised her gaze and locked eyes with Dean, “I thought better of you.  You don’t get to jump ship, you owe us your two weeks notice!  I-I can’t… _Ben_ can’t just shut off what we have.  You skipping town and running off with your boyfriend?  I thought you cared about us, or respected us enough—after all we did for you—to _discuss_ this!”

Now that she was on a roll, and Dean shrunk back, she practically growled, “Less than twenty-four hours since you see him, and you can’t wait to ditch us?!  You just run, leave me here worried sick about you while you’re off, fucking your ex!  I don’t know you anymore.”  Lisa shot to her feet, “I thought you changed, that you were a better man than this.  We stood by you when you lost your brother.  We gave you _love_ , we gave you _family_ when you’d lost yours.  And you’re throwing it away like this?!”

“I-I didn’t mean for it to happen like this!”  Dean chased after her, setting a gentle hand on her shoulder that barely turned her armored frame.  He took her hands into his and urged, “I didn’t want you to find out this way.  Last night, I was drunk outta my gourd, only thinking about the fact that he was back.   _Alive_.  I shouldn’t have done what I did, I _know that_.  I was impulsive, but he makes me impulsive and—”

“Then why are you with him?” she asked quietly.  “If he makes you your worst self, why keep going?  Why not aim higher—to grow into the _best version_ of you?”

That struck a chord.  Was Dean backpedaling?  Was he ruining the only shot at a happy life he’d get, right here and now?

“I…don’t know anything besides him.  And the way he makes me feel,” Dean admitted in a moment of vulnerability.

Lisa took that with the gravity it held and squeezed his hands.  “Love comes in so many forms, but some of them are dangerous.  The way he set you up today?  That…makes me think he’s the latter.  I don’t know if I can really, truly trust you with him in the picture, but—”  She took a massive breath before blurting out the words, “You’re loved. _Here_.  You’re a role model to Ben.  You’ve been good to me, and you’re apart of something bigger than yourself.  You’re not putting your life on the line everyday for a thankless job.  We appreciate you, and…I love you.”

Dean had no idea this would get so intense and…heavy.

Well, he thought the intensity would circle around  _fighting_ : arguing, being called a piece of shit, being berated.  Yet, he was proven wrong…Lisa offered acceptance, forgiveness and (if the situation turned around) the continued promise of family.  Something Dean had longed for his entire life.

But Sam—

How could he stare Lisa in the face and throw it all back?  She was a goddamn _saint_.  He loved Ben, he loved what they’d built, but…

“Hey...”  Lisa ignored the marks and wrapped a supportive hand around the back of his neck.  “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“You’re too good for me,” Dean blurted out, able to answer without pause.  “I don’t even know what to say, I don’t deserve it, I…” She stopped his rambling by pulling him into a lingering, chaste kiss.

It was meant for support.  The kiss wasn’t driven by any ulterior motives, any act of seduction, it was simply saying ‘I’m here for you.’  Something Dean needed, that he craved, that he’d never get outside of this family unit and he was going to throw it all away—

For a good reason, he had to remind himself, the _best_ fucking _reason_.  His brother was alive, even though he gave him space and was doing God knows _what_ during that half year, he wanted Sam back, and he wanted him something fierce—  

Their love was chaotic, it was madness and Dean wasn’t sure it was a step back…but it wasn’t like he and Sammy were going to be settling down with kids anytime soon.

Or rather, never.

“I…” Dean’s voice cracked.  He felt like he was going to breakdown.  “Lisa…I don’t know what to do.”

“I can’t give you an answer, but I can tell you that I’m willing to chalk last night up to a drunken, idiotic move we can all forget.  But you need to figure things out.  And soon.  Because we’re not going to wait around forever.”  She took a step back, giving Dean room to breathe, deciding, “You’ll talk to Ben when he’s back from school.  You’ll either take him to football practice, or say goodbye.”

Flabbergasted and overwhelmed by trepidation, Dean watched Lisa smile sadly and retreat, knowing she was getting ready for work.  There was a bone-deep exhaustion etched into her movements as she climbed the stairs and he was still locked in place, like a statue.

He came here to do a job.

Dean watched Lisa leave, and he recognized he hadn’t accomplished it.  He hadn't done jackshit besides making things messier!

Now, no one was happy.  What would Sam say when he found out the news?  That he hadn’t ended the relationship and he was bouncing back and forth on that fine line between his original plan and _never_ ending it?

Dean had to come up with something, instead of this second-guessing.  Dammit, Lisa was a sweet talker, and she was _smart_ —he couldn’t help but stop and consider _Lisa’s second chance_.    
  
But...Sam _was_ his second chance, hell, Sam was his third and fourth chance for all the times Hell and Death has ripped them apart.  
  
Why was Dean even mulling over Lisa's words, curious about the outcome if this went another way?  Why the hell was he even _entertaining_  the passing thought when he knew what he'd do, regardless?  
  
Fuck!  Dean's head was going to explode!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Ann's Note:** Be aware of your location when reading, there's some suuuuper steamy NSFW art in this chapter *fans self*

 

  
Sam had followed Dean, while keeping his distance, to have a front row seat for the showdown.  He felt an aching need to see his set-up play out, pay off, and watch it all come crashing down.

He _did not_ expect submissive ducked heads, intertwined fingers and not one, but _two_ kisses.

Oh, to say Sam was irate was an understatement—

When Lisa pulled out of the driveway, he was seething.  Before he could even think, he acted.

Sam shot out of the car and slammed the door, so distracted he barely noticed the keys clattering to the ground instead of his pocket.  By then, he didn’t give a shit.  He’d already marched across the street, the lawn, and was pounding his fist against the door.  
  
When Dean opened it, he stumbled backward, mouth opening and closing like a goddamn fish.  Sam shoved him aside, helping himself inside the house for the second time that day—this time, the circumstances couldn’t be more different.

“What happened?” Sam demanded once he was past the entryway, quickly realizing how livid he sounded.  
  
Shit, no—that wouldn’t do.  Dean would respond much, _much_ better to him being…needy.  Or distressed.  In a puppy-dog sense.  If Dean thought he was taking care of Sam in someway, he could step up, and _that_ was the way to get to him.    
  
Sam couldn’t let him see this new-found evil mastermind that had sprung up out of nowhere.  His transition had to be more subtle: “Dean, please.  Help me understand?”

“I’m…Lisa said she could _forgive_ me,” Dean’s voice was coated in wonder, and Sam felt slapped in the face, because—what?  “Not forever.  Today, I, uh, either have to take Ben to practice, or I say goodbye.”

Instantly, Sam took to pacing—he couldn’t control the anxious energy vibrating through him.  He tried asking, in the most concerned tone he could muster, “What does that mean?  What are you thinking now?”

“Heh, it means I'm tryin' to come up with a goodbye speech?”

While Dean said the words, Sam didn’t feel the conviction he wanted!  

He needed _more_.  Maybe this was Sam’s fault, he had never anticipated Lisa even considering acceptance.  Her forgiveness and offer to moving forward, past what Dean had done—he should have planned for anything.  It made Sam wonder what he’d even told her!    
  
If Dean adequately delivered the magnitude of their relationship, the nature of their goddamn bond.  If he _had_ , there was no way Lisa would even imagine wedging herself in their path.  
  
If she didn’t truly know how extraordinary and transcendental...well, Sam’s hand _may_ be pressed.  If Lisa cornered them, he may be ‘forced’ to reveal they were brothers.  The woman deserved the facts, right?

Not like he’d tell Dean the ultimatum.  No way in hell.  That’d be a last-ditch-effort: the nuclear option.  Lisa would never be able to stay with him, knowing that he was in love and fucked his brother.  The one who was a hunter and supposedly dead, to boot.

“Are you really going to tell him goodbye?” Sam asked with feigned hope, then tried to push some weakness into his question, “Do you still want this life?  More than you thought?  Please, be honest with me.  If you’re gonna let me down, just get it over with and—”

“No!   _Dammit_ , Sam, you know I’m not gonna choose anyone over you!  How many times do we have to go over this?!  I’m just...havin’ a really fucking hard time, processing the fact that Lisa _knows_  we fucked and she _still_ wants me to be with her and raise her kid!  It’s a little crazy, all right?!” Dean growled, and effectively shut Sam up.  “Christ!  Give me some fucking time!  To think!  You stormed in here the goddamn second she left, I haven’t had a chance to wrap my brain around this!”

Sam nearly tripped over his feet, faced with the fury and storm that was Dean Winchester.

The _old_ Dean.  Not this domestic, dulled and diluted version of him.  While it surprised Sam at first, a sense of victory shot through him like lightning.  As did arousal because, _God_ , had he missed _this Dean_ like hell and did he _hunger_ for him.

“Who wouldn’t want to be with you?” Sam boldly stepped forward.  “She doesn’t want to let you go.  I bet no matter what you do, no matter when you do it, she’ll still want you—she’ll still forgive you.  Lisa's making it look like she holds the reins and she's taking the high road, but in reality: she’s desperate to cling on.  Don’t you see it?”

Dean’s brow furrowed as Sam continued to advance, watching him carefully.  
  
Then Dean actually (annoyingly) defended, “No.  That’s not Lisa, at all.  She doesn’t bullshit, this is a once in a lifetime thing.”  When he saw Sam’s adverse reaction, he stressed, “Hey, I don’t want it!  I _don’t_ want the olive branch, okay?  I’m just sayin’—”

“Saying what I just told you?  That you’re wanted, needed, loved?  What do I need to do to show you exactly _that_?”  Sam had cornered Dean so far into the living room that the backs of his legs hit the couch and he toppled over.

Towering over him and watching Dean’s eyes widened, on the same level of Sam’s cock—  
  
This wasn’t good.

On the other hand…it had the potential to be _great_.

“Sammy, c’mon,” Dean was begging, and Sam wanted more of that sound… “Don’t get all alpha male over this, please?”

“So I shouldn’t get all alpha male over the fact that her lips were plastered all over yours?  While you just _sat there_?  Letting her indulge, even though she knows you’re leaving her?”  Sam manhandled Dean around on the couch, shoving him down along the length, continuing to hover above him.  “What do you have to say about that?”

“I mean, i-it didn’t mean anything, she just—” Dean was flustered and his freckles were standing out brightly against the pink of his cheeks.  “You know that I wouldn’t—”

Sam wanted to darken that flush, so he roughly unbuckled his belt, to see what Dean would do.  

It worked in the most glorious way—a full-body shiver raked over Dean, and left him stammering to collect his words.  When Sam took it a step further and ripped away the buttons and zippers, hauling Dean’s pants down, he needed to hear his voice.

“You didn’t push her away.  You let her do whatever she wanted.  I wonder, how far could she go, how long would it take until you told her to stop?  Do you get turned on by letting people have their way with you?  Tell me,” Sam ordered pitching forward, his hand lingering mere inches away from Dean’s boxer-clad erection.

“Not with her.“  Dean violently shook his head, his breath coming out in heavy pants.  “Only with _you_.”

“Who do you want, Dean?  I thought I knew before...but now I’m questioning myself.”  Sam’s voice dropped just shy of a whisper, and pulled a move that would make it or break it—hauling away both Dean’s jeans and boxers.

And Dean let him, quivering under Sam’s touch that roughly dug into his hips.

“You.  Always you—”  The words were overflowing with emotion, all the things Sam wanted and more.  “You don’t get it.  How much my world just flipped upside down.  Having you back, it’s the best thing that could happen.  But I gotta tie up these loose ends.  And it’s not like giving my notice at work, man, this was supposed to be for the long-haul, and it was your idea.”  Dean sounded downright pathetic.

It was enough to make Sam withdraw and think about what he was doing.  Well...at first, he thought about it.  Then he waited out the span of silence to make Dean think he was _continuing_ _to think_ about it, in an attempt to look apathetic.  
  
No, he never had a single doubt or any guilt about it.  Sam fully planned on fucking his brother through his girlfriend’s couch.  He was so damn ready and willing, he only needed to get Dean on board.

Dean didn’t have to know that’s what he was thinking—he’d assumed Sam was second-guessing because of his compassionate nature.  That couldn’t be further from the truth.  
  
It was difficult to ease his grip on Dean into something more…tender.  Sam needed to physically match the appearance of his false emotions, even when all he wanted was to bend Dean over and plow his ass into next week—

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Dean soothed, reaching out to caress up and down Sam’s forearms, and falling for the bait, hook, line and sinker.  “It’ll work out.  I’ll tell them goodbye.  And I’m sorry I was caught off guard by Lisa.”  Sam’s cock pulsed when Dean suggested, “Why don’t you give me a nice reminder?  'Bout why picking you is never a question?”

And, fuck, if that didn’t break the dam—

Sam snarled, “Kiss me like you mean it,” as he ducked in.    
  
Dean’s response was enough to rip the air from his lungs.

Without hesitation, Dean’s hand dove down the front of Sam’s pants, fisting his throbbing cock and earning a choked groan.  Sam arched into the touch while he scrambled to open his own jeans, distracted not only by Dean’s rhythm—but his tongue…  
  
God, he tasted a delicious kind of frantic, Dean licking open his mouth, but Sam _wouldn’t_ allow himself to get off like this—

It would be so easy...no, Sam _needed_ to make a statement.

He moaned against Dean’s mouth, “Turn around, on all fours,” the moment his dick sprung free.

Dean watched his every move with lust-blown pupils, quipping, “You gonna fuck me like I’m your bitch, Sam?”

“I’m gonna fuck the smartass out of you,” he countered, in a low rumble.  “Think you can take my dick like this?”

“Hell yeah.”  Dean was eager and excited, responding right on the end of Sam’s question.  “So long as you’ve got something to slick that cock with, you did a number on me last night.  You can slide right in.”

The words hit Sam like a tidal wave, and he had to fight to keep from getting sucked down into the undertow—with Dean spinning around and deliberately swinging his ass, Sam’s mouth was dry.  He swallowed hard, the urgency hadn't dulled at all from the first time.  He spit on Dean’s used hole, enough to circle his rim with his fingers.

“You look so good under me like this,” Sam praised, dipping in two fingertips and swirling them around.  “Like you were made for me…”

When Dean tried to fuck himself back on Sam's fingers, but it didn’t work.  He tried a different method.  
  
Dean demanded, “Are you gonna fuck me or not?  Don’t mess around, we’ve got an actual time-line and I gotta plan!  So we can do w-way more of _this_ —n-no interruptions!”

“Yeah, that smartass bullshit needs to go.”  Sam chuckled darkly and reached into a pocket in the lining of his coat.  Of course, he always had lube.  Dean didn’t need to know what for.  So long as Sam was with Dean, there wouldn’t be any others, or any…questions.

Sam moved fast to slick his erection and while he wasted no time pressing, pushing, the thickness of his cockhead inside Dean’s hole—that’s where he paused.  It was beautiful to hear Dean whine, to watch his attempts to buck backwards, so hungry for the rest of his length.  It was part of the reason he kept a short distance.  The other reason?

“Was she ever able to make you feel as good as I do?  Make you as hard as you are right now?” Sam asked, fingernails biting into the meat of Dean’s flank because, yes, that jealousy had struck him hard and uprooted his confidence.  “Tell me—”

Dean was struggling for air, punching the arm of the couch in frustration when he spat out, “The fuck—?!  Dammit, Sam!  You got nothing to be insecure over!  You can get me off by _lookin’_ at me!”  He glared over his shoulder, meeting Sam’s smug face.  “Now fuck me like we’re doing something wrong—‘cause we sure as hell are!”  
  


  
“Heh, I like that…” Sam decided and slammed inside the tight, perfect heat of Dean’s body.  “Mm, we’ve gotta way of making wrong so damn right.  Making bad f-feel good.””

Dean was so amped up he didn’t bother waiting for Sam.  He was aching for it and didn’t waste time, shoving back and grinding against Sam’s cock.  “Bad, wrong, t-those words mean nothing when I’m with you, Sammy,” catching him off guard in a moment of shocking friction and pleasure.    
  
Sam had to forcefully steady Dean’s goddamn hips, because at the rate he was going, he’d be filling his ass up in no time!  While he wanted it, he also knew they wouldn’t get this opportunity again, and Sam wanted to savor it.

“Holy shit—” he cursed, pausing to gather himself before fucking Dean with long, deep plunges.  “You’re impatient, aren’t you?”

“N-now that I got the taste back?  I want it all,” Dean snickered with a wanton drawl.  “Next time, I’m fucking you ‘til you can’t walk.  Move!”

The thought made Sam laugh.  He had no intention of spreading his legs for his brother like he used to, and as he fucked the words from Dean’s mouth he realized—that was unusual.    
  
Normally, they had no problems switching.  Now the thought of having, of possessing, of _taking control_ of Dean in every single way—it was an addiction.  A possession he’d hold tight, and planned on taking to the grave.  That…wasn’t a healthy relationship.

Neither was the location.  Or the way Dean was writhing and shouting out Sam’s name while he pounded him violently, raw.  Except, all these small things…they made Sam wonder—even as his cock was squeezed in a divine, glorious wet heat—  
  
Why all the white lies?   Why was he faking so many fundamental things about _himself_?  If only to appear 'normal?'   
  
At least one thing was for sure—with Dean, he’d never have to fake an orgasm.

Goddamn, he was close, and for that reason, he babbled, “N-next time, I’ll ride you.  Let you watch as I use your dick like a toy.  Fucking myself down on you until we’re both screaming.”

Dean loved that: if his whine-like yelp and the flurry of curses were anything to go by.  That’s when he looked back at Sam again: debauched, beautiful and the picture of everything that made Sam fixate.

He rolled his hips and clenched his muscles, punching a gasp from Sam.  He ordered, “Cum inside me, need it, Sammy—” and reached for his own cock.

Except, he was grabbing the low-hanging fabric of his shirt to wrap _around himself_ _—_ Dean was preventing a mess.  They both knew damn well Sam _would_ make Dean cum on his cock.  

If his brother wasn’t so fucking stunning right now, maybe Sam would be petty.  Maybe he’d pull out and coat him in release, letting it drip down to the couch, leaving stains and reminders that lasted longer than the marks on Dean’s neck.    
  
Sam knew Dean would _never_ go through with it, but the thought was inspiring.  When his orgasm built up, Sam desperately slammed his hips faster—blowing his load inside Dean, who was already shouting and thrashing.

“Fuck, _Sammy_!  Fuck—” he moaned, sitting backwards as Sam ground against his prostate and pulled Dean into his lap to brutalize it.

Dean squirmed with a handful of wet flannel, throwing his head back to rest in the crook of Sam’s shoulder.  If things were different, Sam would be smearing Dean’s cum all over his stomach.  He’d be eagerly licking off and sucking every last finger—tasting him.  Not today, but one day soon…

Hell, Sam had already gotten away with _a lot._  

Fucking his brother on the Braeden family couch?  That was a massive risk.  Paying off with an even bigger win.  

He knew Dean wouldn’t let them lay here in the afterglow.  Sam decided to be a good lover (considering what they’d just done) and carried Dean, lifting him up and off the couch before he pulled out.

Sam was attempting to be…thoughtful.  If that’s what you’d call it.  Even though the second his cum began leaking between Dean’s thighs, he felt that hunger all over again.

“You’re gorgeous like this,” Sam was candid, taking advantage of Dean woozy on his feet.  He was naked from the waist down and Sam couldn't control the impulse, fingering the hot cum in and out of his loose, abused hole.  When Dean doubled over and he looked like his knees would buckle, Sam supported his weight.  All while he twisted two, long fingers inside him, to the knuckle.  “Can’t get enough of you.”

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ!”  Dean hissed, overly-sensitive and spasming from Sam’s onslaught.  He grabbed Sam by the chin and growled, “You’re gonna be the death of me,” before he kissed the hell out of him.

Right as they parted, Dean felt the need to add, “Don’t you _dare_ tell anyone about this, you—”

“Who am I gonna tell?”  Sam actually laughed aloud and rolled his eyes, “Bobby?  Because I _love_ to gossip about my sex life with my own brother?”

“Shut up.”  Dean glared and began leading Sam…somewhere.  “I’m talking about Lisa.  Okay?  Now, let’s…figure out what I’m gonna tell Ben.  For real.”

‘Somewhere’ ended up being the bathroom upstairs, and Dean dragged Sam into a shower.  He thought it was a fearless move and said as much.

With a scoff, Dean replied, “It’s not like she doesn’t know we’re boning.  Besides, clean up’s gotta happen.  I’d rather be caught taking a shower than smelling like sex.”

Sam supposed that was fair.  He also thought to himself…he had won.  He had to have won, there was no coming back from this for Dean.

Under the spray, as they both took turning doting on each other (something they never, ever did—showers were a chore, not a luxury) they spit-balled thoughts about Ben.  Of course, Sam didn’t give a shit.  But he knew Dean—this was the part Sam _couldn’t_ throw a wrench in.  
  
Sam wouldn’t even try.

Ben was losing his potential dad.  Both Winchesters had been there.  And they knew what it was like when that abandonment was someone’s _choice_.  It sucked, it hurt, you blamed yourself no matter the reasons, and for all these overwhelming feelings: they had no cure.

Sam would let Dean handle it his own way, on his own time, with his own rules.  It was only fair.

This was the one, the _only_ thing Sam _would_ disappear for.  
  
After all, he didn’t feel particularly threatened by the boy and the words he could use against Dean.  While Sam could counter Lisa’s moves, while he could be (and trump) the companion and the lover she was…Sam could no longer be _the son_ Dean never had.

Maybe there _was_ a time.  Maybe, when he was younger, Dean had been like a father to him, but they had crossed that bridge decades ago.  He couldn’t even pretend, the thought of returning to the role made him uncomfortable.

After the shower, he left Dean with a lingering kiss—letting him change his clothes begin to pack his belongings with a sense of victory.  Even though there was a heaviness in every move Dean made, Sam couldn’t wait for this to be over.  Dean couldn’t turn back, not after collecting his things and watching the clock tick down.

Hell, as Sam got in his car (after searching for his dropped keys in a haze of confusion) he even watched Dean head into the garage.  
  
Huh, he uncovered the Impala—she’d been benched, too.  The poor girl was laying in wait, dormant, under a tarp.

Sam had witnessed a flare of the old Dean.  He prayed that spark would continue to glow and ignite, because this family had all but smothered it.  Retirement.  Suburban life.  PTA meetings.  They hadn’t done much for Dean’s fighting spirit.  
  
He _needed_ his brother back: the surly, dangerous one who was ready to hunt.  Not only was Sam missing him in his bed, he was sorely missing him at his side during the hunts.

And hunting had been the one thing to keep him occupied while Dean was gone.  If he could get _everything_ back?  Sam would be over the moon.

Sam had been waiting for it—the knock at the door—and he practically flew up to the sound.

When he threw the door open, he realized too many things at once.

He had been sloppy, caught without a weapon, not having looked through the peephole in advanced.  Sam probably wouldn’t have thought about these things had it been Dean on the other side.  But it wasn’t.

It was Samuel.  And that fact made all his instincts come flooding back.  If his grandfather wasn’t going to do it, then Sam would chastise himself: for his careless, foolish behavior.

“This is where you’re holed up, boy?”  His brow was furrowed and his arms crossed, judgment evident across his features.  “While _we’re_ knee-deep in a vamp nest, you’re—”

“Getting my brother back in the game,” Sam interjected, refusing to be questioned nor criticized about this, never about Dean.  “He was bound to get pulled back in.  The longer we wait, the rustier he gets.  It was time I told him I was alive.”

Samuel honestly appeared surprised, and only then did Sam (after mentally inventorying the room and making sure it was clean) step aside to let him in.    
  
He kept a close eye on his grandfather when he entered, doing exactly as predicted and sweeping a scrutinizing gaze over the scene.  Of course, his eyes deliberately lingered on both the gun on the table—clearly not in Sam’s hand—and the knife on the nightstand.

He took a seat and Sam followed, commenting, “I didn’t think you had it in you, son.”

“We need all the hunters we can get,” he easily lied, leaning back in the chair.  “Monsters start acting bogus, it’s all hands on deck.”

His stare was piercing, like he was trying to decide whether or not to believe Sam.  “Why the change of heart?”

“Just what I said.”  Sam kept his answers curt and to the point.  Although, he admitted, “Plus, there’s the fact Dean would get more pissed off, the longer I was alive and he didn’t know about it.”

“That’s true, too,” Samuel agreed, then wondered, “How did he take it?  Where is he now?”

“He took it…about how you’d think he’d take it.“ Sam chuckled and shook his head fondly.  “He’s tying up loose ends.”

Dammit, Sam didn’t like being on the defensive with these rapid-fire questions!  If there was anyone devious enough to get under his skin, to find a tell in his deceptions—it was his Grandfather.

He had no idea what was going on in Samuel’s head, whether he believed him or not, what he was thinking.  Or, the better question: why he thought it was so pertinent to track him down.  And if he tracked Sam here (and with ease) had he done it before?  Samuel was a damn good hunter, which meant keeping tabs on other hunters was as easy as finding the monsters.  
  
How much did he know about Sam’s frequent visits to Cicero?  Was it information that piled up, a mountain that grew too tall, and Samuel needed to come see whatever was happening with his own eyes?  
  
The entire fact that he was back from the dead also was unnerving.  Something else he hadn’t—and needed—to clue Dean in on.  
  
While it was one step at a time, the Campbells...they weren’t a warm family.  And Samuel was a wily son of a bitch.

“Did you come by to yell at me?  Tell me I needed to grab my machete and join in the vamp hunt?” Sam made the effort to sound bland, and drummed his fingers on the table.  “A phone call works, you know.”

“Sam.”  The man sighed heavily, finally cutting to the chase, “Did you really see Dean?  Or are you just here again, visiting?”

Well, shit.  It _was_ official.  Samuel knew more than he was letting on.

Except, Sam kept his cool and he refused to acknowledge the accusation.  Instead, he began laughing and asked incredulously, “Why would I be visiting?  Of course, I saw him, I’m waiting for him.  You think the sightseeing in Cicero is it’s selling-point?”

“I know, son.  You don’t have to pretend, I understand the distance you’ve kept between you and Dean is tough, but—”

“Do you know how ridiculous this sounds?”  Sam cut him off, “He’s—”

“All right!”  Samuel hands rose defensively, because, yeah, maybe Sam _was_ getting riled up.  “Maybe you did see him this time.  But…I’ve done my research, too.  This apple pie life he’s got?  This was what _my Mary_ took off to live.  She fought like hell to get away from a world of monsters—what makes you think Dean would even _consider_ coming back to hunting?  When he finally has everything he's ever wanted—wrapped up with a nice, neat bow on top?”

Sam’s jaw was clenched, biting back his retort then swallowing down all the millions of reasons he _couldn’t say aloud_ from pouring out.  All the reasons Samuel _couldn’t_ know about.  When Sam looked down, seeings his knuckles turned white and he was worried he had given himself away.  Especially when his grandfather’s tone turned disgustingly sympathetic.

“Hey, he knows you’re alive, right?  That’s something.  At least you two can talk, there aren’t any secrets.  But that woman he’s shacked up with?  She’ll be hard to leave, he’ll never find another one who accepts him like that.  If he wants out of the game, and he’s smart, he’ll stay.  And that’s okay.  Sam, you said it yourself—if he’s rusty, he’ll hold us back.  Hell, maybe even get killed, first day back.  We’ve got work to do and—”

“Leave.”  Sam’s order was cold and even.  So much so, Samuel did a double-take.  Before he could open his damn mouth again, Sam continued, “Get back to the hunt and text me details.   _We’ll_ catch up with you.”  He put emphasis on the ‘we’ll’ and stood as Samuel did.

He couldn’t usher the man to the door, crowd his space to get him out of the room, fast enough.  Of course, Samuel had to go and open his mouth, saying, “Sam, I know you’re invested, but you got to _think_ about—”

“I’m sorry, I _really am_ , but you don’t know my brother like I do.”  When Sam tried to brush it off, it was robotically forced.

After all, he’d managed something impressive.  Samuel single-handedly punched every-goddamn-button Sam had, he’d brought new life to every fucking worry plaguing his thoughts since he’d planned to win Dean back.  
  
More than ever, Sam was climbing the walls, waiting for Dean to get his ass here!  He didn’t want to listen to this bullshit, he wouldn’t accept any ‘what ifs,’ and he sure as hell didn’t want Samuel here.  
  
Especially, since the first thing on the docket was Sam shoving Dean into bed when he arrived.

Samuel lingered outside the doorway, a glower fixed on his face.  His hand was clutching the frame, preventing Sam from slamming it shut.  “I shouldn’t have to tell you this, but don’t get your hopes up.  You need to be rational, kid, and—”

“I don’t need a pep-talk from you.  I’ll see you on the road.”  Sam added with a heavy eye roll, “Thanks for stopping in to check on me.  Since I’m a goddamn _child_.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, I’m sorry.  We’ll be seeing you soon,” he finally resigned, and turned back to trudge back into the parking lot.

Trying not to kick the door in, Sam locked it up tight and grabbed his gun.

He couldn’t be sloppy, he knew that, and his upcoming excitement over seeing Dean had left him open and vulnerable.  Since he’d come back, he’d been _overly_ prepared and undefeated.  Sam was lucky it was only Samuel, because over the last six months he’d made _a lot_ of enemies.    
  
Those foes weren’t only creatures either—Sam had people gunning for his head, and he needed not only to remember, but to remain vigilant.

Now that he thought about it...there was _a lot_ of…’truth’ he needed to sort through.  
  
Sam was going to have a helluva time trying to figure out which parts he’d divulge to Dean and which parts would stay cloaked in the shadows.  Yes, they would get back to hunting, but with hunting came new challenges and they were on a....new mission, of sorts.

In retrospect, Sam had done a lot of a shit that the _old Dean_ would have looked down upon.  Who knew what this new one would think, if hardened Dean may have been offended...fuck, he’d need to test the waters slowly.  
  
Hopefully, Dean-in-transit, as he found his way from suburbanite back to hunter, wouldn’t run away at Sam’s first confessional.  Fuck.  
  
He’d been so preoccupied with winning him over, Sam had forgotten that he had (unknowingly) changed, himself.  It didn’t matter, any version of themselves, anywhere, at any time: they’d work.  They had love.

Now that Samuel had mentioned a nest of vamps, Sam was itching for the thrill of a hunt.  It was something that had been missing on this trip to Indiana.  Sam had been hunting nonstop, he was goddamn excellent the job, and everything he’d done since he rolled into town had been shoddy, uncertain and tentative work.  He needed a win, a sure thing...  
  
Sam had forgotten how relationships worked—now he felt much more confident in the middle of a slaughter.

Maybe that was one of the reasons he was currently going stir-crazy?

He continued glancing at the time, the worrisome feeling continued to build as the minutes ticked by.

It was getting late.  Now Samuel’s words were echoing.  It took everything in Sam not to drive over to that fucking house again…

Dean _couldn’t_ still be there.  No way in hell.

…but if he was, the real question: what would Sam do about it…?

He wouldn’t go quietly, like Samuel thought he would.  No, he’d make a racket that would wake the dead, the only question was how far would Sam be willing to push if it came to that.

The lengths he’d go to...they didn’t settle well.  Sam didn’t like where his head was going, where his thoughts were roaming.  The place was dark, it was _too dark_ and it didn’t make any sense—  
  
How...could Sam follow through with all these concepts he was musing over, in regards to _a family_?    
  
The way it was extreme didn’t raise alarm bells, until he truly began to visualize how he’d plot it out.  That’s when it dawned on Sam—in black and white, from an outsider perspective—his curious mind continued to twist into ideas more menacing and threatening, labeling it _creative_ , the longer he allowed it.  
  
No, he needed to _stop_.  The visit from his Grandfather shook him up, his brain firing off in all different directions.  All he needed was to take a breath and center himself.  Sam would sit here and trust his brother.

He _would_ trust Dean to do what was right, to follow through with his promises and what his heart told him.

Sam hoped it he’d do it soon.  No one was going to like what he had ready for a Plan B…


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Ann's Notes:** It's the finale! And we're blessed with one more piece of art  <3 This one is also NSFW
> 
> Hope you've all enjoyed the ride!

 

  
Facing Ben, talking to him and attempting to explain why he was leaving...it had been the most difficult thing in the world.  Dean knew what it was like, he’d experienced feeling abandonment from his own Dad, so all the words pouring out of him were ones Dean wished he’d heard himself.  
  
There was still something that he had to do.  Even though Lisa had all but told him to hit the road, to never come back, the strangest thing happened—Dean needed to make damn positive her words were true.

That he was never welcomed back.

This was for Sammy as much as it was for him.

The problem happened when Sam called Lisa desperate.  While untrue, it painted a different picture of her in Sam’s mind—one that _could_ cause trouble in the future.  Dean knew his brother well enough to know his skewed perception and insecurities could blow up in a fight, in an accusing ‘why don’t you just go back to her’ way.  
  
In reality, hell no, she wasn’t desperate.  She was understanding, she was a goddamn saint, and she’d given him chances to fix his mistakes.  Lisa gave him the benefit of the doubt, even when he didn’t deserve it.

For that reason, even if he saw a crack of an open door left behind him, Dean _had_ to close it.

He needed to lock it, deadbolt it, and friggin nail boards to the wall.

If he didn’t, there could always be the question of ‘what if?’  
  
The possibility of keeping up with their lives, his own curiosity of “how’s Ben doing in school these days?”  Of “you guys taking care of yourself?”  And, _God forbid,_ if anything happened to Sam, it would be the very _definition_ of unfair to go crawling back to them.  He couldn’t allow it—they deserved better.  
  
If it ever came to that again, Dean had made his bed, he deserved to be alone.

So, yeah, he’d talked with Ben and it ripped out his heart, but the kid still wanted to go to practice, so Dean took him.  He’d called Lisa explaining what happened, so there wasn’t any false hope raised.  It would look bad—given the ultimatum.  With the news, following in Dean's footsteps—with his bad habit of compartmentalizing—Ben inevitably chose to spend the night at a friend’s house.  
  
Thank God he did.  

Now, there was one final thing to do.  Dean was working himself up all over again, waiting for Lisa to get home from teaching her yoga classes.  He was determined to wrap everything up tonight, his one-track-mind decided this topic was unavoidable.  He’d also grabbed a shot of whiskey to—hopefully—make the words easier, and poured her a glass of Chianti.

It was waiting at the table when she arrived home, but it appeared she’d already done her fair share of drinking.

Call it an educated guess.

It was coming up on eleven o’clock and Lisa looked worn-down and loopy.

Although she was happily lured in by the wine, with a, “Yes!  A nightcap!” then the question of, “What are you still doing here again?”

Dean felt awful.  Lisa…she _never_ drank.  Not these days, at least.  If he had been the one to drive her to the bottle, that shit was heavy, and—no.  He couldn’t afford to get distracted.

“There’s something I need to tell you, Lise.  You need to know the truth about—”

“Hm—!”  She slashed her arm through the air, gulping down the wine, “I know the truth, Dean!  You had someone, thought it was game over, came here to rebound until further notice, then dribbled right on back over!  We’ve done this.  I don’t want to do it again!  If the truth is, you’re gay instead of bi, I don’t need to hear it, I—”

“His name’s not Joe.”  Dean took a deep breath, because he was doing this, he was really, _really_ doing this.  “His name is Sam.”

Lisa blinked dumbly as she stared at him, and he took it upon himself to fill her glass back up.  “Wait…” she slowly began, “So you’re boning a guy that has the same name as your brother?  Okay, coincidence isn't enough to catch my interest—”

“He _is_ my brother.”  Dean’s voice was steady but imploring at the same time—needing her to understand.

Yet, Lisa’s brain wasn't computing.  Dean figured most people would have the same problems.

“Hold on—”  Her eyes widened in excitement when she said, “Sam isn’t dead!  That’s _awesome_ , that’s—”  Then her face fell, when she realized, “But _Joe_ has been _Sam_ this entire time.”  Lisa locked eyes with Dean, drained wine and extended the glass, indicating she needed a refill.  “You and Sam…how…what…how long?”

Holy fucking shit, _it_ was out there.  Someone else, besides them, knew about their relationship.

Lisa wasn’t screaming at him and throwing things, calling him a pervert, so that was a good start.

“Years and years.  And I know you probably don’t want to hear it, but maybe this is a little easier to understand.  Now do you see how many important roles he plays in my life?  When I lost him, it wasn’t _just_ my brother, same thing when I got him back…”  Dean was trying to hold onto his confidence, but Lisa’s scrutiny was uncanny.

“S-Sam was, _is_ _—_ ” she corrected herself, then was overwhelmed by a huge hiccup.  “He’s not only your brother.  Who I know, like, everything about.  He’s…your lover.  And…” Lisa's internal battle to avoid an outrageous response was visible.  She was stunned, baffled and (of course) mildly disturbed.

“He’s the love of my life,” Dean said the words without pause, with full disclosure and, _dammit_ , did that feel good.  “You know I thought I lost him forever.  That hit was, _shit_ …well, you helped me get through it.  And I can never thank you enough, or pay you back.  I-I know I’m a freak.  I know you probably don’t understand any of it, but our bond, it’s,” his laugh was strained, “It’s unhealthy, we’re insanely codependent.  We can’t live without each other.  And…I wouldn’t have it, or _him_ , any other way.”  
  
A painfully long span of quiet passed, Lisa fighting any reaction at all.  She was holding herself stone-solid, running through the facts in her brain.  
  
Of course, Dean was ready for whatever she dished out, he deserved it, he knew it, but if there was one person who earned the uncensored truth?  It was Lisa.  
  
Eventually, her posture gave way and she groaned.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Lisa eventually came up with, nearly caving in around the chair.  She bought some time, taking her earrings off, their weight clattered on the table.  “Obviously, I can’t compete.   _We_ can’t compete.  But you already know: you deliberately told me this—with the intention of making sure I wouldn’t want anything to do with you.  You want to isolate yourself, Dean Winchester.  I don’t know _why_ , but you can still have…” the word, “ _Sam_ ,” was tough to push out, “and _others_ in your life.  I’m not sure why you’re bent on destroying _everything_.”

Dean’s breath shuddered as he reached out and took her wrist, surprised Lisa didn’t recoil.  “Everyone around us dies.  I was lucky, _so_ goddamn _lucky_ , I was able to spend all this time with you.  Now, we’re on borrowed time.  So long as the bad guys know you’re important to me—you’ll have a target on your back.  We need to severe ties.  All of them.”

“Well, you’ve made your choice.”  Lisa huffed, clearly frustrated when she said, “You could’ve had a support system.  You clearly need it, but…you’re choosing to push it away.  You’re choosing to push _everything_ and _everyone_ away.  Except for Sam.”

“Us against the world...it's our reality,” he offered ruefully, hating that even a drunk Lisa was a compassionate, logical and amazing person.  All the more reason to make this a clean break—he'd never forgive himself she and Ben were caught in the crossfire.  “I’m sorry.  I really am.  I felt like you deserved the real story, after everything you’ve done for me.  Not some watered-down, half-truths.  Now you know,” Dean shrugged pitifully, “Sam and I are freaks.  But we’re freaks together and we’re used to living in the darkness.”

Lisa’s eyes were boring holes into him, like they were cutting through his body and into his soul.  She clucked her tongue and shook her head, “That’s so sad.  No one should have to go on like that.  Especially you, Dean.  It's not living; it's surviving, at _best_.  I’m sorry.”

Out of all reactions, a ‘my condolences,’ wasn’t exactly what he’d been expecting, but Lisa surprised him again.

“Do you need help packing?”  She had to have seen the boxes, but offered anyway.  Lisa followed up with a nonchalant, “I’m gonna down this bottle of wine before bed.  Keep me company until then?  After that…I guess we go our separate ways.”

“I…”  Dean had _no idea_ how to phrase it.  “You’re so chill right now.  Is it the booze?  Anyone else would want me outta their house, before the sickness soaks into the walls, or something.”

“ _Dean_.”  Lisa stood up and grabbed his shoulder.  “You’re the same person you've always been.  Nothing about you, or your past, has changed the man sitting in front of me.  Just because I’m finding out something new, doesn’t mean it hasn’t _always_ been apart of you.  When people judge, they need to be reminded: their past shaped the person they love into who they are  _today_.”

She stumbled in her step, announcing, “Yes.  It’s unorthodox and I never would'a expected that from you.  Looking back?  You did…”  Lisa cursed the hiccup that kept interrupting her.  “Well...nursing you back to health, was like mending a broken heart.  It’s a different than mourning family.  Didn’t notice it at the time, but now...it all clicks.”

“I’m so sorry, Lise.”  Dean stood up alongside her and hoped he got through, that she remembered this in the morning.

“Oh, hush.  Something amazing happened to you, I’d be screamin’ it f-from the rooftops!  Except, you can’t.  And that sucks.”  Lisa hummed thoughtfully and reiterated, “Now, I’ve still got half a bottle left.  Entertain me, one last time!  I know damn well I'm never seeing you again.  You've got someone who fills every role in your life, healthy relationship or not, I‘ll admit defeat.”

He couldn’t help smiling, he couldn’t believe her outlook was still so…optimistic.  Dean wasn’t sure if optimistic was the correct word, but nothing could get the woman down and he couldn't have prayed for better.

God, the last thing he wanted was to break her heart.  Dean had a feeling the damage had been done…but coming out to her, with these new confessions, they had to break the fall.  They had to numb some of the pain, because it wasn’t about her—she knew that, undeniably.  
  
It was about two brothers who were much too close for their own good, living a reality that was kill or be killed, where everyone they’d ever loved had died.

The expiration date on their friends and loved ones wasn’t a ‘maybe,’ it was ‘when.’  To the point, Dean needed to push everyone away, remaining outside the madness.

As he poured Lisa another refill and they chatted, Dean savored their last moments together.  He’d already packed everything into the Impala, he’d been ready to turn tail and run—but she hadn’t been hell fury.

Even now, they were laughing and ignoring the rest of the world, because this was the end of theirs—they accepted it together.  Dean could feel (slowly but surely) the last chapter of their story winding down.  It was so bittersweet..

More than anything, Sam would be over the moon with the news.  Even though he was oddly dismissive and insulting about Lisa in general, he’d been the one who directed Dean here.  At the time, it made sense—Ben and Lisa were the only way he could heal and go on without Sam.    
  
They’d had an amazing half-year together and Dean could never return the favor.  Lisa acknowledged she saw exactly what Dean was doing, calling him out about severing ties.  There was no doubt if Dean wanted that support system she alluded to, if they wanted to stay friends?  Lisa would agree.  If only he could have it all…

But Sam was Dean’s all.

And now?  He _could_ have him.  Finally, after all this time.

Dammit, he was second-guessing himself.  Maybe Sam _shouldn’t_ have given him space.

Maybe the kid, Ben, was Dean’s Kryptonite.

Maybe Lisa had gotten down on her knees and begged.  Or spread her legs.

Sam had no idea.  All he knew, was that there was a _singular_ after-hours joint in the area, and he was currently drowning his sorrows.

After the visit with Samuel left him ruffled and angry, he began to acutely feel the ticking clock on the motel wall.  Capture every instance of the numbers changing on his phone.  The time both flying past and inching by.  It was maddening.    
  
With Dean not making it back to the room after two am (giving him room at the bars for liquid courage, if needed), the niggling thought driving Sam batshit crazy was—  
  
…did Dean renege in the eleventh hour?    
  
That _wasn’t_ what they did!  That _wasn’t_ who they were, dammit!

Each and every time, bottom of the ninth, they had each other’s back!  What was so messed up in his head—

Sam was happy to be alive, but so fucking pissed off at his dying wish.  It was Fate biting him in the ass, at its finest.  It hurt.  So bad.  This was heartbreak, Sam thought, and it was going to rip him apart because he hadn’t done a good enough job the first time around—  

He knew Dean’s current number, and Sam’s thumb continually hovered over it but he expected the worst.  He couldn’t handle it going straight to voicemail because of reunion sex with Lisa.  Or worse—Dean answering, and hearing her voice in the background as white noise, mumbling ‘just tell him’ making Sam want to puke.

Right now, he needed a hunt or a quick fuck.

Since the vampire nest was a few states over, he needed to look around the after-hours bar.

He’d drained nearly a fifth to himself, he was feeling bold.  Sam winked at the waitress and left her a boatload in tip money before he started walking around and mingling.

The thing about these joints, were that people were usually coupled off and ready to go home together.  Maybe Sam would need to split up a potential one night stand to get a partner of his own.  He cruised around with that very intent in mind, because the weepy Bachelorette party in the corner was a no-go.

There was a couple playing darts and laughing enthusiastically at each other’s jokes.  Two others flanked them, the message across their faces and the way they kept just enough distance was clear.  This was a 'there friends set them up' situation.  It looked like it worked out.  And out of _everyone_ here?  Shooting pool or playing darts was more Sam’s speed.  Plus, he could read this couple—they were chill, ready to fuck on the first date and hot.

Very, very hot.

Sam, after all his drinks, was fearless.

He wedged himself into their game space and greeted, “Hey!  How are you guys doing?” looking between the woman and the man, the girl dropping to catch the falling dart.

“Oh my God!  I almost hit you!”  She giggled, her beer sloshing over the side.

With a charming smile, Sam said, “Wouldn’t be the first time.  I was wondering, could I join you?  I, uh…think I just got dumped.  And it was a pretty serious relationship, so I don’t know what to do right now, besides make friends…”

“Aw, honey…”  The woman melted, and while Sam was decently positive he was winning her over, he wasn't stopping there.  “That’s horrible!  Of course, you can hang out with us!”

He glanced over to her ‘hook-up’ before he could get too jealous (Sam thought he was reading this situation right) and bit his lip, giving him an obvious once-over.  “Yeah.  You two seem like a lot of fun.  And thank you!  For, uh, letting me come play darts.”  Sam let his eyes linger to see if he could pick up on a vibe from this guy, if he was picking up on what Sam was implying…

They restarted the board and Sam sparked a conversation, noticing their extra company had taken the chance to get the hell out of dodge, “You guys from around here?”

“No, actually.  We’re both from California, but we’re doing a road trip across country with our friends.”  It was the guy who spoke up, and it looked like he took the bait.  “That’s how I met Hailey tonight, she’s with the group we’re traveling with.  Almost one-hundred strong.  We stop in different towns, stay a few days, then meet back up on the road.”

“Bikers?” Sam asked with even more interest because they didn’t give off that vibe.

“Yeah, we, uh—”  The woman tugged on his belt loop and said, “Ditched the jeans and leather jackets at the motel tonight.”  She turned towards the board, lined up, and threw a perfect, sliced-through-the-air, bullseye.

The man handed Sam off some darts with the words, “We can rotate, if you want.  Not worry about a score,” and Sam could feel his direction being followed, everyone picking up the cues.

“Thanks—” Sam allowed his touch lingered.  Right after, he hit the same bullseye, knocking Hailey’s dart off the board.  He mused, “Never told me your name.  I‘m—”

“ _Every_ -fucking- _time_!”

The voice was bellowed and burst through even the pounding music of the bar, and Sam’s jaw dropped to see Dean there.  In his casual, ripped, at-home jeans and a…hoodie?

“I’ve been waiting around for you, and _where_ have you been?!  I think this is something we need to have a little sit-down talk about,” he lowered his volume and his pitch, making it something dangerous as he grabbed Sam’s arm.  Oh, there was a buzz of exhilaration in it.

Hailey called over, “Congrats!  Looks like you two haven’t broken up after all!”

And Sam tried to thank her, too.

But Dean was physically hauling him away, hustling them from the building, back into the Impala as they burnt rubber out of the after-hours bar.  It was a ten minute drive back to the motel, and Sam had a million questions—but there was an obvious answer, wasn’t there?    
  
His brother was here.  With him.  If that didn’t mean Dean actually followed through (unlike the dark thoughts lying in Sam’s head) and Sam was chosen, what did?

Dean broke the silence and Sam’s joyful mood.  “You were doing it the first night, too, Sammy.”

“Doing…what?”  He tried to play dumb, not because Dean was ignorant, but there was always a chance he may not be able to say the words and this could be swept under the rug.

“Goin’ out, getting laid!”  Dean punched the steering wheel before he whipped his attention back to Sam.  “Even when I’m _here_!  What the fuck has gotten into you?  How many people have you banged since you’ve been back?!  And then thought it was a’okay to pound my ass into next week without a condom?!  Sammy, I—”

“I would never put you in danger!”  He needed Dean to erase that thought from his head, _now_.  God—that was the last thing he’d do!  
  
“I—”  Sam paused and shook his head, because…maybe some _form_ of the truth was okay…or maybe it wasn’t…?  “You were fucking Lisa.  Constantly.  As much as you could have.  I lashed out, because I was jealous it wasn’t me you were with.  Fuck, I wanted you so goddamn bad, Dean.  I missed you so much and when I—”

Sam wiped a hand down his face and promised, “I always, always used protection.  I swear.  And if I have you, if you’ll let me, you’ll always be the only one—”

“Is that why you were trying to strike up a threesome?”  Wow, Dean was _much_ more bitter than Sam initially thought.  “While I was here, waiting for you?”

“What?”  His jaw dropped.  “I’ve been here!   _All_ fucking _night_.  Then my world came crashing down when I realized, hey, you don’t love me!  You must have stayed, made your choice, and I _wasn’t it!_ ”

“You didn’t waste any time heading out for some ass!”  He slammed the Impala into park and stormed towards the room, Sam hot on his heels.  “Jesus, Sam!  Am I gonna be taking a shit that‘s too long, and you’re gonna head out to a bar to get laid?”

The second they were inside, Sam grabbed the front of Dean’s open jacket and swung him around to hit the wall.  Nearly nose to nose, he needed Dean to see the honesty in his eyes.  Although, this close…everything was too goddamn tempting, Sam wanted to eat him alive…

“Dean.  I-I’m in— _was_ in—a really fuckin’ vulnerable position.  I didn’t like it, and I had no clue how to react.  You’ve always wanted one another, and we put each other first.  The thought it may _not_ be a rule anymore?  That _I_ may not be enough?”  Sam’s voice quivered, “It scared me.  Terrified me.  Made me do some crazy things.  So tell me—are we in the clear?  Are we together?”

Dean’s eyes flickered from Sam’s, to his mouth, to his tongue—wetting his lips.  He readily agreed, “ _Forever_ , Sammy,” before his hands surged out and grabbed two handfuls of Sam’s ass.  
  
Dean pulling their bodies flush, and rutting their cocks together made Sam whimper out, “ _Fuck_ _—_!” and toss his head back.  Leaving him wide open for an attack.

Easily and hungrily, Dean’s mouth clamped down on the delicious, sweaty expanse of Sam’s throat while he bent his knees and used his shoulder (and brute force) to ram Sam backwards until they were tumbling down onto the bed.  Yeah, Sam noticed right away that Dean was being bossy: and bossy looked stunning on him.  God, did Sam want him—

Dean’s hands weren’t only hot, they were frenetic, rough, and Sam could have sworn he heard the ripping of fabric.  The chill, the vibration of excitement that reared through his spine had Sam’s hips seeking friction—somewhere upward, off the mattress—he found it against his brother.  Oh, Dean was still looming over him, expression fixed into something intimidating.  Holy hell, did he move fast, managing to strip Sam of all clothing before he got the chance to do the same!

Completely naked and exposed under the harsh motel room lights and under Dean’s control…it was new and thrilling.

It was exciting in this first-time way.  Well, first-time since being resurrected—there _was_ a difference Sam couldn't explain.  
  
Dean didn’t hesitate to spread him out, exploring every inch of bare skin with his fingertips.

Except, when he wrapped his hand loosely around Sam’s cock, he ducked in and whispered, “Was it all a distraction?”

“W-what?”  Shit, his voice cracked and he tried to arch into Dean’s hand, but it _wasn’t tight enough_.  Dean wasn’t giving him relief only teasing him further, while Sam desperately tried to fuck his fist—

Dean’s teeth sunk into Sam’s neck and sucked, the skin raising into a mark beneath his touch and sent Sam reeling from the pleasure.  It looked as though his brother’s mood still hadn’t lifted, as he clarified, “All the times you got this dick wet,” he thumbed the precum drooling from Sam’s slit and smeared it across his cockhead, “Was it all a distraction?  Or did you pretend it was me you were fucking?”

His words were sharp.  They were filled with resentment and Sam wondered if this was the beginning of some punishment…

That wouldn’t fly.  But he’d play along for now.  Give Dean the illusion of control until his hand was forced and he took it away.

Sam continued to seek that pleasure, helplessly pumping against the weak tunnel and aimed for his palm, confessing, “Most had your e-eyes.  Some, your freckles.  I-I know, shitty substitution.  But I—”  He realized it was pointless and collapsed back onto the bed instead of fighting for a release that  _wasn’t coming_.  Especially since Dean had all but stopped, enraptured listening to him.

“I didn’t want to pull you back in.  I did what I had to do,” Sam admitted, shaking his head, and going on to say, “I did, you know.  Imagine they were you.  Told you, it’s always you, Dean.”  With a momentary pause, Sam reached out and cupped Dean’s hardness through the thin, worn jeans.  “What do you want me to do?  What else do you expect from me?”

He fell back to his haunches and, in turn, away from Sam’s touch.  Dean’s brow was fixed in a furrowed, clipped frown and Sam’s question had him, well, _wondering_ what the answer was, himself.

Was there someone more that Sam could give him to work with?  Something that would make him snap out of this?

Fuck, if Sam sprawled out naked and achingly erect wasn’t doing it, he didn’t know what would!  And the fact it didn’t appear to be enticing enough?   _Huge_ problem.  Maybe that’s what he should address…

“Dean, seriously?” Sam asked dryly.  “You’ve got control right now, you’re holding the reins—I’m hard, desperate, and ready.  Don’t hold back...”  The last part was filled with longing, Sam sat up and followed after Dean—his palms holding him in place.

He brushed their lips together and suggested, “You’re pissed?  Take it out on me.  You wanna play rough, let’s play—” nipping his earlobe.

Dean growled and shoved Sam back down to the mattress, a step in the right direction.  As was him pulling off his hoodie and the t-shirt underneath, tossing them carelessly behind him.    
  
Although, what Sam wanted was the lower half, he could also make due with driving Dean insane by teasing him and his sensitive nipples—right within his reach.

He licked his fingertips, knowing Dean wasn’t going to allow him up from the bed again and ghosted the wet tip over the nub until he moaned, hardening with pleasure.  Maybe, when Sam rolled them and teased them with his fingers he _could_ have been gentler, but he was trying to get a reaction, push Dean into friggin action!

As he ground down, denim against his thick and heavy—yet bare—cock, there was a tug of war of pleasure and pain.  Sam, for whatever reason, loved every back and forth sensation.  It made him feel alive.  The fact that Dean was acting with this degree of abandon, instead of thinking, hesitating and potentially being unapologetic—it was beautiful.

Sam dared to reach out again and go for those jeans.

He was allowed to pop open the button before Dean ducked forward and kissed the living hell out of him, tearing off the rest by himself.  
  
Sam was whisked away, lost in the barrage of teeth and tongue, it was easy.  But once their bare dicks were sliding up against one another, Sam found himself metaphorically hovering, needing more.   _Dammit,_ he _had_ to push another button—

“What about you?” Sam asked innocently, flushed and panting, as he fisted them together the proper way.

Dean’s long, wanton moan was delicious and it took everything in Sam not to devour it, crashing their lips back together again.  He had to focus on something else—like the precum between them letting his hand to glide as he jerked them off together.  
  
He was thoroughly confused by the question, responding, “W-what?”

“Lisa—”  He barely formed the word, bucking off the bed—his body moving without him.  Sam realized he was closer than he thought.  But he wanted to be buried inside Dean’s ass when he came, _dammit_!  “Was it always about her?  When you were with her?”

Sam pushed Dean away long enough to grab the lube that was sitting and waiting in the nightstand drawer.  It had been here, ready for Dean’s arrival, from the moment Sam pulled it out of his pocket.  Without even talking about it, worrying about a fight for top: it only made sense that Dean’s loose hole would be the quickest ticket for them to become one.

It made Sam bold, covering his cock with lube and meeting Dean’s gaze with defiance.

“You little shit,” Dean growled and shook his head.  “Tomorrow morning?  I _am_ gonna fuck you into next week.”  He barely needed to move to straddle Sam’s lap, lining up his cock, right where he wanted it.  With a prefaced, “You’ll _love_ this, Sammy,” Dean dropped down, taking every inch in.

Sam nearly choked on his tongue, his hands flying out to grab Dean’s hips and steady himself, but Dean—  
  
Dean was already moving.  He was grinding and rocking, Sam’s cock buried impossibly deep inside him.  Before Sam even had time to gather himself, Dean began to lift off and plunge back down.   _Jesus Christ,_ it was a sight to see…  
  


The pure confidence Dean exuded took his breath away.  The way he stared Sam down like _he_ was the prey got him going: this _was_ Sam’s Dean, setting that fantastic, unforgiving pace—

Trying to keep up, frantically trying to readjust, Sam spread his legs and dug his heels into the bed so he could thrust up while Dean was plunging down.  Their skin slapped together, both meeting each other halfway.  Sam was goading him when asked again, “Was it always her?”

“Dammit, Sam!  Can we not?!”  Dean was pissed, it manifested in his speed and the brutality of his attack—he was rushing to the finish line.

Sam pressed, “I told you, I answered!  It was always you.  I always thought about _this_ ,” he emphasized it with a sharp snap of his hips.  He seized Dean’s waist, holding him down and stuffed full of his cock.  He rolled his pelvis, fucking into him as deep as he could.  “You were always what made me cum.  Just like you’re gonna now, fuck, _Dean_ _—_ ”

“Course, I did!”  The words were stammered out, Sam knew damn well he’d found his prostate.  “I-it _never_ worked, drove me fuckin’ crazy, and I _hated it_!”

Oh, _that’s_ why he didn’t want to talk about it.  And as Sam resumed the motion of his hips, he felt bad for him.  After all, a petite, short and skinny girl with dark features could never be a substitute for Sam.  Not only was there no resemblance—they couldn’t be more different.

Dean seemed to resent him for bringing it up all over again.  He fucked himself hard and fast, having found his sweet spot, grabbing a fistful of Sam’s hair.

“You were lucky,” he spat out, but the venom didn’t stick—his voice already took a turn for heady.  “Y-you knew I was out there.  You got to pick and chose.  I didn’t _a-any_ of those things—”

“You have me now,” Sam urged him, trying to soothe him, because he was riding tandem, along that same edge… “Like we talked about— _forever._ ”

An eager nod was followed by the demand of, “Fill me up, Sammy—” and a clenching, tight grip around his cock.  When release splashed across his stomach and chest, he was determined fuck Dean through his high, blow his mind.

Sam had _been_ ready and teetering over the edge.  Dean’s dirty order didn't tip him over, it shoved him: intensifying his orgasm—Sam's euphoric rush felt downright  _heavenly_.  He kept fucking into Dean, grinding and arching, until his body their bodies gave out.  He  _needed_ to make every second count.

When they collapsed, Sam hadn’t been thinking, just acting.  Somehow his muscle memory ended with him pillowed against Dean’s chest.  It would’ve been odd, it may have bothered him, if the fingers carding through his hair didn’t feel so wonderful.  As did the random kisses pressed against his forehead and his crown.

He just let himself…be.  Let Dean take care of him, he enjoyed it.

Huh.  Sam never imagined they could be like this, like _before_.  
  
Until now, Sam had needed to be in control until his knuckles turned white, in every aspect of his life, since he came back.  When it came to hunting, his routine, how he planned on getting Dean back.  Finally, how he planned on _keeping him_.  
  
Every instance revolved around Sam’s choice and others following his lead.  
  
This, where they were, wasn’t written down anywhere on his list (maybe the _opposite_ was)...but he liked it.  He was supposed to trust Dean, right?  Sam had lived his entire life by putting himself in his brother’s hand…  
  
If he followed his gut, which was fueled by logical these days, sure, it made sense.  Sam may let this trend continue a while longer, give Dean that good-morning-fuck he wanted…

“I was scared,” Sam admitted, and for once...it wasn’t for Dean’s benefit: it was the truth.  “I thought if anyone could convince you to stay, it’d be your own, perfect build-a-family.  I thought I’d fucked up, waited too long, that you were given a taste of something...better.  I’m really, really happy right now.  I…love you, Dean.”

They spoke the words so rarely—no matter how much they felt them, they meant them, they knew it was an unwavering truth.  
  
Still, voicing it was something huge.  This was a unique situation where they were needed.  After _that_ emotional rollercoaster.

“I’m glad you’re happy, Sammy.  And I love you, too.”  Dean released a massive sigh and elusively said, “You don’t have to worry about the perfect build-a-family.  I…made sure Lisa would never take me back.  Burned the bridge down.  Wanted you to know how serious I was, that my choice was absolute.  Rest assured: I’ll never call or check in on them.  I _can’t_.  I did it for you.”

“Wow…”  There was genuine awe in his voice because—

He hadn’t expected his brother to take it so far, not on this own.  
  
Of course, a break-up should be enough to tear two people apart, but maybe Dean saw how Lisa wanted to keep their unit together, despite everything?  Maybe he knew she’d forgive him, no matter what.  Take him back, no matter when.  He _had_ to lock that door, because of the woman on the other side—

It would be an easy out into another life.

Dean was right...it _would_ drive Sam insane.

“How did you…?” Sam asked hesitantly, not wanting to upset him or open wounds that were too fresh to touch.  “You don’t have to talk about it if—”

“I told her the truth.”

The words were simple, and he held Sam tighter.

…But did that mean…?

 _"The truth,_ the truth?  About… _us_?”  Sam gaped, because that was crazy.  Any other time, if Sam was out of the picture, Dean _had_ intended to spend the rest of his life with that woman.  And he’d actually blurted out—?

“I owed it to her.”  It was hushed, the darkness in the room and his tone making it all the more intimate.  “And sometimes, maybe _we_ deserve to tell our story, you know?  No matter what people think, or how they reaction, we've fought for it.  We fought for each other.  It was...liberating.  For the first time, having someone to talk to about us, having Lisa _willing_ to listen…and that’s why I took so long getting here, and _you…_ ” he scoffed, and decided, “All that’s behind us now, right?”

“Right,” Sam agreed, almost too quickly.  “Never again.  And that’s just...wow _._ ”  Sam realized with a start, “I'm jealous.  You got to talk to someone who knows _who_ and _what_ we are.  Even if it was a means to an end, hell, it _was_ plotting the end of you guys—maybe I didn't give her enough credit…Dean, I want to be able to live out loud with you one day, doesn't matter how long.”

“This is another chance for us.  Third, fourth, doesn't matter, it's a clean slate.  After everything we’ve gone though, I don’t even give a shit anymore.  Let’s live however the hell we want.”  Dean glanced down and tilted Sam’s chin up.  
  
They met in the middle, the idea, the concept in those words firing them up immediately.  They shared an intimate and passionate kiss that stretched on, and then another.  Until they began blurring together.    
  
Breathless, Dean decided, “New rule: there aren’t rules.  Only us being loyal, truthful and faithful to each other.  You an' me, being happy together and in love.  How does that sound?”

“Too good to be true?”  Sam flashed a wild grin.  “But if you mean it, I’ll be happier than I’ve been in half a year…hell, maybe _years_.  If we could have that?”  He zoned out momentarily, imagining the possibilities, the new ways they _could_ live.  
  
If they didn’t give a shit.  If no one gave a shit.  If they took off somewhere no one knew their names, where they weren’t notorious…  
  
Sam nodded, contentment blooming where it hadn't existed before, “Even a _piece_ of that, would be better than any Greatest Hits in Heaven.”

“It’d damn well chase away the Hell we’ve been through...”  Dean snorted, Sam bouncing on his chest.  “I wish that wasn't so fuckin’ literal.”  He stole another kiss before wondering, “So what’s next?”

“Besides this amazing idea about a life outside the shadows?”  Sam was fixated and hopeful, feeling a second wind building inside him.  
  
The ideas whipped through his brain, and Sam was able to organize the chaos in record time—this was where Sam flourished as his best self.  Now, getting what _he_ wanted turned into _getting what they wanted_.  He and Dean, together, a team again.  Imagining how they could be themselves, be 'out,' during witness interviews, any amount of undercover work—the only problem was the Campbells.    
  
They’d cross that bridge when they came to it.  Sam absolutely refused to allow blood to bring down love.  He’d be prepared for Samuel this time.  No, _every time_.

"I'll admit, that's a big one!" Dean laughed and agreed.  “But...yeah, besides _that_ ,” his voice darkening just a lilt, piquing Sam’s interest.

“I remember something about tomorrow morning...didn't you promise to fuck me into next week?”  Sam's nose lightly grazed over Dean's neck, now that he'd decided resolutely—this was okay.  “After that?  There’s a vamp nest in Erie, Pennsylvania.  No idea if it’s been handled yet.  If it has, we’ll look for a new case, if not?  We’ll grab our machetes.”

“Mm, love it when you talk dirty, Sammy.”  Dean couldn’t help it—he was glowing.  This _was_ their comfort zones, he missed it.  “Well, I think that sound excellent.  I’ll admit it, I’m looking forward to getting back into fighting shape.  You, me, and some flying heads?  Totally my idea of romance.”

“I know.”  Sam chuckled, this was where they thrived—and it was true.  “Welcome back.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Graphics for Who's Keeping Count of all our Cheap Shots](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16328309) by [lotrspnfangirlgraphics (lotrspnfangirl)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotrspnfangirl/pseuds/lotrspnfangirlgraphics)




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